Fredonia
by LibraMoon
Summary: Changed to a series of one shots. UKxFem!US. Because people wanted England to have more love. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

_**Flawsinthisworld has requested a UKUS with Devil!AmericaxAngelEngland. Here we go.**_

_**Rated M. **_

OoOoOo

_Fredonia._

His greatest failing.

He didn't know when it began, sometime around her fall no doubt. Before that she'd been the sweetest little angel. His wonderful little protégée and she was definitely suited to being a guardian angel. Britannia himself was higher in the hierarchy than she had been. He had only been gone for a short task.

He was not the good Lord and could not keep track of everything all at once.

However, somewhere along the way, she'd been tempted and fallen. When he returned she was amongst the dammed.

It had been a lamentable occurrence and he prayed to God for his righteous judgment as well as divine grace.

She had been an angel of extreme compassion and kindness. Almost to a fault. Her blue eyes had been inquisitive and she had the mind of a child. With bright golden hair, and a small lock that stood straight up, as if it were constantly point to heaven and God's glory.

Britannia had adored her from the first moment she'd been assigned to him. He had taken her under his wing and made it a point to show her what was expected of her rank, as well as where to avoid.

Mainly, the _void_. It was the defined border between Heaven and hell. She was never to go there alone.

However, she must have disobeyed him, for after his mission -which had been successful due to God's grace-, she'd been absent.

He had searched for her, fearing the worst. His suspicions had been confirmed.

Her halo was gone, her white garb a dreadful black. Inky and sinister as her red eyes watched him intently. Her innocent face was lit up in carnal delight. Nearly every inch of her skin was visible to his widened eyes.

Her pristine, nearly bird-like wings, had become a twisted black leather and reptilian like deformities on her back. She sat with a wicked leer on her face, caressing her new horns. He noticed the male standing behind her. Wings larger and horns more pointed.

Likely the same rank for the enemy army as he was for God's. Fredonia gasped in pleasure and evil delight as the dark haired male with an sneer lapped at her neck. His wings enfolded around her, and he yanked her head back, making her howl with pleasure.

She smiled at him then, her red eyes burning into his.

Later, he would learn of her fate. That she had been tempted by something Noricum had told her.

_Noricum_, a demon of the most diabolical sort, often had Fredonia wrapped around him. Literally and figuratively.

Britannia allowed only pious and holy thoughts to filter through him even when Fredonia was copulating with Noricum in the open at the edge of the void. Her now ruby-red eyes watched him intently. The sickening indications of lust on her face for him. He said nothing.

She would crook her finger at him, an unholy smile on her lips as she thrust her breasts out on proud display.

She would get no reaction out of him. Only his contempt for the wicked. He would not respond.

Not even when her partners changed, and Noricum presumably grew bored of her. Or perhaps, in her wicked lust he became not enough. Still, she lingered on the edge of the void, cooing and calling to the angels that passed.

Mostly, though, she beckoned to him.

He would not be swayed. He knelt to pray to God for his forgiveness and never ending mercy. Upon all life, including the humans. He prayed that they would not fall to temptation as even some angels had. She always seemed to appear whenever he passed the veil between the human world, on his way to the heavens.

Britannia believed that she would tire of trying to taint him.

He did not realize that Fredonia would not be easily swayed away from him.

OoOoOo

"I can show you pleasures not found in that lonely bed of yours," she whispered when he passed. Her tail would snake out, and touch his wings briefly. It caused them both to shiver. He snapped his wings, refusing her touch. His green eyes burned brightly with fury that she dared to try and defile him.

She winked, and placed a finger in her mouth, her tongue licked the digit until it was slick.

Her half-hooded eyes stared at the area between his legs.

Britannia huffed, and continued on his way. His green eyes narrowed on her.

"I will get you eventually," she promised lazily.

He felt a few feathers drop in irritation.

OoOoOo

He was praying for the poor unfortunate souls that lacked the Lord's wisdom. The ones that had been blinded by greed or hatred. He was praying for their immortal souls and God's forgiveness for their sins.

The radiating warmth of the Lord filled him. The sounds of the songs of his fellow angels filled his ears. It was a moment of quiet reverence.

Until he felt something brush against his hands. Britannia startled, green eyes looking up.

To the red ones leering down at him. He trailed his gaze toward his hands, which had been clasped in prayer. As Fredonia rubbed her thigh against his hands, bringing them dangerously close to her...

"Have you no shame!? Foul beast," Britannia screamed, backing away quickly. His white wings unblemished by her sinful intentions. He inspected the snow feathers as he flew backward. His halo glowed brightly against the lingering gray of the void. The only area where he could plead on behalf of those that repented.

She stalked toward him, her figure scantily clad and she showed off her long legs with black leather. A whip rested on her side, as she looked at him in mock innocence.

"I have no idea what you mean," she replied salaciously, a clawed finger tapping at her chin. "You were the one trying to do _unspeakable_ acts to me."

She waggled a finger as she winked at him. Her one black lock of hair still pointed straight up, and Britannia longed for the days when it was heaven she served.

"Naughty, naughty," she cooed. "Little Angel."

Her body moved with a fluidity that would have given a lesser creature an urge toward sinful acts. Britannia glared at her.

"Begone!" He commanded.

"Oh," she simpered with face concern. "But I don't want to leave just yet."

He watched her horns gleam in the reflective light of holiness his halo cast. She batted her eyes at him flirtatious.

"Why don't you come down here, and we can get to know each other better?" She purred seductively.

Britannia recited a Psalm and sent a prayer to God to keep him on the correct path.

He missed the way her red eyes watched him as he flew away.

Pondering.

OoOoOo

The next time he encountered her, she had snuck up behind him and draped herself over him. She caressed his wings as he struggled to loosen himself from her grip. Her tail wrapped around his waist tightly.

"You're so handsome when you struggle," she whispered in his ear and Britannia valiantly repressed the shiver. He could nearly feel her corrupting him.

"Remove yourself from me at once!" He demanded with righteous anger.

"I'll remove something from you," she replied with a laugh, plucking at his Angel garb.

His wings snapped in her face, momentarily distracting Fredonia as he fled. He requested a more covering set of robes as he prayed for protection.

OoOoOo

Britannia froze. His wings fell limply to rest behind him. He could only stare in horror as Fredonia tempted a moral man to lie with her, just outside the void. Her black hair and red eyes did nothing to detracted from the other worldly beauty she showed this man.

He has watched her lure countless good men at the last moment. Britannia is forbidden to interfere. Free will is still paramount. However, he is terrified by the anger he feels at the sight of the man indulging himself in Fredonia.

Because he is furious the man is touching her.

But not because his immortal soul is at stake.

The angel could not tear his gaze away when she began to call his name out in a wanton fashion. Her eyes locked on him with a smile on her face.

OoOoOo

"It was you," she purred at him one day, with her tail twitching behind her. It lashed back and forth like a serpent.

Britannia stood before her unafraid of her wickedness. His holy green eyes warred with her devil red ones.

He refused to dignify her with a response. His speech was reserved for God, and the humans he was meant to protect. He still had other angels to train.

"That's how I fell," she said with a bitter laugh.

He paused, his wings snapped open, a threatening display and reminder of who he was.

"Silence Demon. I did nothing to cause you to fall." He said, secretly concerned that he had actually failed her in some way.

Her red lips twisted upward in a sensual smile.

"Hm... yes," she said tilting her head, exposing more of her bare neck as she licked her lips. "and no. I suppose."

Her finger traced a path up her arm and she watched him intently.

"He tempted me with you." She told him, and Britannia felt himself grow hot. His cheeks flushed. "And you are so very _tempting_ angel." She whispered as she drew closer.

"S-stop this." Britannia stuttered indignantly. "This is madness!"

Her red eyes dimmed sadly for a moment.

"Madness?" She questioned softly. "That's all I have left."

OoOoOo

"Please," she whispers against his ear. Her tone a touch desperate but the sincerity is what undoes him.

Fredonia.

Her face was earnest, or at least, she gave a very good impression of it. Her hand is on his chest. Her actions were chaste at the same time they were alluring.

She's wearing far more clothes than he's ever seen her in since her fall.

A soft blush is on her cheeks, and for a moment her horns don't seem so wicked for a single moment.

"Please," she repeats, her expression nearly sweet.

"I cannot." He denies with his heart hammering, but it takes him longer to pull away.

Understanding passes between both of them. Her red eyes light up in satisfaction.

He is weakening.

OoOoOo

She watches him after that, but does not approach. She keeps her other lovers away. Or, at least, Britannia does not see them at all. It makes the temptation to be near her, even greater.

Her red eyes lock with his green and he turns away heading back toward where he rightfully belongs. Another angel accompanies him now, and Fredonia only watches them.

The angel at his side, a brother in arms, shakes his head, cautioning him not to stop and fall into what was likely a trap.

Britannia knows better. However, she beckons him now in a way she hadn't for so long.

He leaves her near the void, as she smiles grimly.

Fredonia knows he'll come to her.

OoOoOo

His lips capture hers, and she yields. He never expected that she would. Or that he would be the one to fall. However Fredonia curls her wings around him and holds him tightly. There is no mocking, nor boasting. She does not whisper lies in his ears as he imagined she would.

Fredonia only clings to him as he plunders her.

Britannia knows what it will cost him, but he cannot deny her any longer.

He shudders under her touch, as she calls him by name.

OoOoOo

Gently, she picked him up, waiting for his wings to disappear as hers had done. Her red eyes watched him, waiting for what she had missed when she too had been in this state.

Her black hair fell in front of her eyes, and her wings twitched in agitation.

It was done. She had finally defiled the pristine angel she had wanted for so long.

Decades.

Centuries.

Perhaps, even eons.

Time had no meaning here.

She'd finally done it.

So why... did she feel so empty still?

She clutched Britannia closer, the dark tendrils of hell began to emerge from the well defined border. Icy fear coursed through her veins. The satisfaction she felt just moments before was dashed away. She does not glorify in this.

Hell is seeking her angel. He has been corrupted by her darkness. She freezes in place, waffling in terror.

By rights, she should allow him to fall as she had fallen. They could be together forever then. Couldn't they?

She loves Britannia. She wants him to stay with her.

But the knowledge of how he will react, and how much he will hate her makes her darker nature recoil to the last lingering vestiges of the creature she used to be.

The one that truly loved Britannia in a way that was not twisted and corrupted in darkness. The creature that had loved him unselfishly.

When she was...

_Fredonia._

The real Fredonia. The one that had stood in God's presence. The one that had heard his voice. The voice of the great creator.

She hisses in pain, claws clenching momentarily as she remembers things that were forbidden to speak of. Things Britannia reminds her of.

Fuck.

To do it will come with steep ramifications. Yet, the tendrils of darkness so great it has no true description crept closer, and she closes her red eyes as the decision is made.

There was a moment of stillness, as the lingering effects of his purifying touch cause her to remember what he once told her when she first came into existence.

_His green eyes looked at her with such quiet dignity as they stood above the world. The very first humans sought to make a life out in the wilderness, which had once been a lush garden. _

_She did not understand why the humans were given the chance at redemption. England told her it was love. _

_She only gazed at him attentively. He noticed her blank stare. His smile was like the morning sun itself. _

_"Fredonia, what is love?" He asked her gently. _

_"Love?"_

_"Yes, what is love?"_

_"What HE feels for us," she responded promptly."In all his glory and wisdom."_

_Britannia nodded. Gesturing toward the humans. _

_"It is more than that," he informed her fondly, " __Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.__It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.__Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.__It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."_

That had been so long ago. Now she stood at the entrance of hell with an enchanted Britannia in her arms.

Love always protects. Always trusts. Always hopes.

She swallowed the acidic bile that swelled in her throat.

Always... perseveres.

She bowed her head, allowing the old feelings to well within her.

"Our Father," she whispers softly trying to bite back the hiss of pain. "Who art in Heaven," her eyes prickle with tears of blood. The pain is so horrible that even the worst pits of hell do not compare.

The tendrils retreat as if they have been scalded by her very words. She suffers unimaginably for what she has uttered.

Yet, she is undeterred.

"Hallowed be thy name." She coughs, spitting up blackness and filth. Her wings begin to burn. "Thy Kingdom come, they will be done."

Wounds open up on her thighs as they weep black and red blood. The agony is nearly unbearable as she begins to scream the rest of the prayer. She holds Britannia close, refusing to release him to the darkness of hell.

She refuses.

"On Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread." The word tapers off into a screech of unadulterated despair. However, she must continue. She cannot afford to stop. Britannia cannot afford for her to stop.

Her fingers turn ashen, slowly breaking away.

"And forgive us our trespasses," she screams through clenched teeth as more caustic and thick blood pools in her mouth.

"As we forgive those who trespass against us," Her wings are singed to ashes, and her skin is peeling back all over her body. Her throat burns fiercely.

"And lead us not into temptation," she sobs as her body continues to deteriorate. "But delivers us from _evil."_

The shining light hurts her eyes, so fiercely that she is blinded by the holiness of it. She was only able to catch a glimpse of him. His white hair and glowing eyes were radiating with God's glory and might. An angel far higher than Britannia has heard her prayer.

The angel looks at her, and she can feel that it knows her lengthy list of sins. It can tell in an instant that she has been cast from God's light and may never return.

She knows that.

"Why do you speak _HIS_ name, foul creature?" The light demands with booming words that cause her to flinch away in fear. "You have been cast into the pit of Hell for falling to temptation."

She cannot see him, but feels the divine presence in him. She cowers over Britannia, seeking to protect him.

"You have led another down the tainted path of lust and depravity." The voice says without malice, as if all were fact and known.

"Not for me," she whispers with blood and spittle spraying the floor. "I do not call upon _He who is called I AM, _ for me." Her hands shake and she knows that she is damaged beyond repair. Hell will not heal her now. She will be rejected outright.

The presence pauses, as if confused and surprised by her words. She grabs a hold of the silence for all she is worth.

"I call for Britannia." She says in a broken tone. "I pray," and even speaking the word causes her to cough in a fit of pain. "I _pray_ for Britannia."

"Your words fall on deaf ears," the angel informs her harshly, "unclean one."

It cannot be true, she knows God is merciful. She knew him once, and even though she has fallen from grace she misses him. The light he brought burns her now, but it was not always so. He loved her once. She forsook that. She alone made that choice and should rightly suffer for it.

But Britannia had not.

Slowly, she sinks to her knees, and flounders nearly dropping her precious burden. To seek God again will surely kill her. She knows it.

"I love you Britannia," she whispers as blood tears cascade from her blinded eyes.

The presence moves before her, ready to leave. Likely to report back to God what he has witnessed here.

The end of all has come for her now.

She bows her head, and recites the Psalm she favored when she still dwelt in heaven with Britannia and the Lord.

"Be merciful to me, O God, because of your constant love. Because of your great mercy wipe away my sins! Wash away all my evil and make me clean from my sin!" She chokes on the words, but the whisper of them still is heard.

The Presence burns brightly, and even in her blindness, she sees traces of the light.

She gently lays Britannia down, because her arms are burning from the inside out. She cannot speak without being cleansed. She has asked for non-existence if it saves him.

"I recognize my faults; I am always conscious of my sins." And she was. She had always known the list of her transgressions, but had not sought to repent as she did now.

"You will vanish into nothingness," the Presence warned her grimly.

Still, she did not falter. Even as her screams grew more and more tortured.  
"I have sinned against you—only against you— and done what you consider evil. So you are right in judging me; you are justified in condemning me. I have been evil from the day I sinned; from the time I was tainted, I have been sinful." She wailed in agony and her legs were disappearing out from under her. Breaking away like brittle glass and ash.

She fell to her belly, but did not stop.

" Sincerity and truth are what you require; fill my mind with your wisdom. Remove my sin, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Let me hear the sounds of joy and gladness; and though you have crushed me and broken me, I will be happy once again. Close your eyes to my sins and wipe out all my evil."

There was only enough strength left in her to finish. So beg and grovel like a serpent upon the ground. She did so gladly, for Britannia's sake.

"Create a pure heart in me, O God, and put a new and loyal spirit in me. Do not banish me from your presence; do not take your holy spirit away from me. Give me again the joy that comes from your salvation, and make me willing to obey you. Then I will teach sinners your commands, and they will turn back to you."

A rasping wheeze, and a sense of finality settle over her.

"Spare the life of Britannia, O God, and save him, and I will gladly proclaim your righteousness. Help me to speak, Lord, and I will praise you." Her words grow quieter, and she can sense the presence strains to hear them.

It does not matter. God can hear her. She has to believe it. She knows he hears her.

" You do not want sacrifices, or I would offer them; you are not pleased with burnt offerings.  
My sacrifice is this humble spirit, O God; you will not reject a humble and repentant heart." She sobs, nearly driven mad by pain and sorrow.

For Britannia, for her love.

Please, Lord, hear the words and forgive.

_Forgive!_ Her body wilts, most of her gone. Bloody tears fall on Britannia, staining his clothing, but she cannot see it. To her he is still pristine and white.

Worthy of forgiveness.

"O God, be kind to Zion and help her; rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Then you will be pleased with proper sacrifices and with our burnt offerings; and bulls will be sacrificed on your altar."

The last words she will ever utter seemed swallowed up by the silence of hell. She fades into nothingness, leaving only bloody tears on the garb of an Angel.

OoOoOo

God was merciful. God was gracious. God was forgiving.

England knew all these facts very well as he stared across the meeting at an exuberant America.

America...

He remembers, even if she does not what happened one fateful day in Hell. When he had been tempted and nearly fallen from grace. He should have, by rights, been cast aside for eternity. However, he had not counted on the love America truly had for him.

She had not been destroyed, but allowed to roam the Earth. However, not as a human. Her punishment was to be a nearly immortal being. However, God always tested his faithful ones with steep challenges that had even greater rewards.

Hence the reason England was here. He too had been sent to Earth, in the same capacity as America.

God had forgiven him, and in doing so had allowed America the chance at redemption. Her love, and her willingness to give up everything for him had swayed God to mercy. A true and meaningful sacrifice had been made, even if it was not required.

And, because she had spent her last breath praising God, instead of cursing his name, America would be given the opportunity so rare, that it had never before been heard of.

England, were he faithful, would be allowed to return to heaven with America. Provided she too remained faithful. Having already fallen once to temptation, her memory of their time in Heaven as well as her time in hell was stripped from her. She would have to remain faithful to God, through faith alone.

He, however, was permitted to keep his angelic side as a constant reminder of his end goal.

England had nearly lost America in the revolution because he grew too prideful. It was God's subtle reminder that should he fail, America would be lost as well, but the war would have far more permanent reaching consequences than a skirmish on Earth.

The war between heaven and hell was still poised to happen, and England only had one chance to make sure she was by his side once more.

"Hey dude!" America said loudly, suddenly right in front of him. "You're staring off into space again," she chuckled with a smile.

England blinked at her, and sat straighter.

"Was I?"

"Yeah dude," she replied clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, it's time to go."

Warmth and kindness radiated in her blue eyes and he was so grateful to God every day.

Because at least, during their time on Earth, he could love her the way he wanted. He pulled her close, and kissed her. It was slightly awkward with her having to bend over.

America gave a slight squeak of surprise, before she settled against him. When she was seated in his lap, she pulled away shyly. Her face flushed.

"England?" She asked curiously,

His green eyes stared into hers deeply. "You know I love you, America." He said softly, kissing her again.

She smiled easily, and brushed her fingertips across his hair.

"I love you too," she replied sincerely.

"I would do _anything _ for you," he promised intently.

Her pretty blue eyes looked at him with some confusion, but a pleased blush spread across her face.

"England," she murmured "I know. Just like you know I'd go to hell and back for you."

Her words caused him to still, and he buried his head in her shoulder to keep himself from tearing up.

Because America said things like that, not understanding she already had.

"One nation," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Under _God_," she finished, and looked at what parts of him she could. "What is up with you today?" She asked curiously.

England just held her tighter.

OOOOOO

_**Fredonia was actually one of the first names used by "Americans" after the Revolutionary war. It was a proposed name for the United States of America. **_

_**Noricum was actually a province in 400 A.D. Its area corresponded to the greater part of modern **__Styria__** and **__Carinthia__**, **_Upper**/**Lower Austria_** west of **__Vienna__**, **__Salzburg__**, a part of **__Bavaria__**, and a part of **__Slovenia__**. **_

_**In case you are wondering, yes, America was "led astray" by Austria. Yes, I made Austria evil. **_

_**Yes, Prussia was an angel.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Based off of The Story about no one knowing that America had a personification. Saw the story around, cannot remember who wrote it. Really sorry. Doing this on my phone, but full credit to them. Just to be perfectly clear_**

**_This Author does not claim ownership of any characters/lyrics/ ideas contained herein. _**

**_Rated M. I own nothing. _**

**_OoOoOo_**

It was a well known fact, that had through the course of the centuries been debated a thousand times over, that the United States of America possessed no personification.

None at all.

Which was both surprising and often, to the other countries, rather sad.

Even during the course of wars and disputes, a figure head of the government for the U.S.A. was present, but not a personification. It was a constant reminder to the other countries of the passing of time. For the individual would often grow old, or be elected out of office. Then another would take their place.

Over the decades, and centuries, the people changed, but not the personifications.

Finland, whom had first visited the land, thought nothing of it. For perhaps, the native peoples required no one and therefore none existed. He commented as such to France and the British Empire both. They, per usual, dissolved into a fight over whether the personification was hiding or truly did not exist.

So when a woman strode through the doors at the next meeting, no one seemed entirely perturbed by it, believing it another representative of the US. They had all been given an e-mail about the change.

However, there was something about her that seemed wholly _familiar._

The largest nation, Russia, seemed to pause as he stared at the slim blonde female. Her glasses flashed as she looked over the room. Some part of him tugged at the vague recollection that he had seen her... somewhere. But where?

_A lonely port, seemed all too far away as the winds howled over the angry ocean. A storm lingered above them, and the vessel just might not make it. Though Russia would survive, he worried for his men. The sea fairing had gone better in recent centuries, but it was not perfected. Nothing in life was perfect._

_Just as they managed to make it to the deserted port, by the grace of God and perhaps a bit of luck. He turned and saw a single figure out in the pouring rain, the pounding winds did not seem to affect her. A spirit of the land, perhaps? _

_Russia blinked, noticing that her blonde hair was slicked to her skin, wet and dripping, but her eyes never faltered off of him. She came forward slowly, beckoning he and his men to follow. She led then through the dark and wet streets that night, even as the ship was smashed against the piers and would be in need of repairs. _

_The woman, with eyes so blue they seemed to suck him in, brought them to the only inn for miles in a quaint little settlement. She smiled at him then, and though she said nothing, Russia couldn't escape the feeling she was wishing him luck._

He shook his head, blinking at the memory. That was impossible. The woman looked like an exact copy of the one from Colonial America. She must have been that kind woman's descendant. Yet, the features were too alike.

He squinted his violet eyes as he truly looked at her. The hair was different, and there were glasses now, but... da. Da, that was the same woman.

How could that be?

For Canada, it was remembering something out of a film.

_The year was 1938._

_The worry of war was heavy in the air, and he had take a walk to clear his head. Concerned over what the future would bring for his country and for others involved. If one were to ask him, death was looming on the horizon. _

_A woman, _who looked remarkably similar to the one that entered_, looked at him from across Niagara falls. Her blue eyes seemed to inherently seek him out. A flash of a smile, a warm look. Just as he was feeling all alone. The nearest personification to him was so far away. He'd often wished that America had someone, just so that he would not have to travel so very far for companionship._

_But things were looking up, between his country and the United States. Even after the Smoot-Hawley Tariff act and the great depression that had weighed so heavily on both countries. _

_However, his attention focused on the blonde woman, who was smiling widely at him. She moved and held up a sign, Canada squinted to see it. _

_'THE US WILL NOT SIT IDLY BY.'_

_He blinked and tried to make sense of it, as she waved and walked away. A few short weeks later, the President of the United states makes a speech in Queens University in Kingston, Ontario. Franklin Roosevelt assures the people that the United States_ _would_ not _sit idly by if another power tried to dominate Canada. _

_The connection between Mr. Roosevelt's words and the woman with the sign, were never made by the personification. For he was too busy being relieved over the warning against attacking his lands. _

South Korea recalled her easily.

_A woman holds him close, tending his wounds. The war has not been kind to him. The crimson cross she bears on her uniform, it means that she is medical personnel. She is there to aid the injured and tend to those poor souls that have lost everything from limbs to their sanity. _

_American. _

_He can tell by the way she talks to him. Soothing and soft tones, like one would use for a precious but fragile creature. Her blue eyes seem so warm as she gives him a reassuring smile. And, for a moment, he truly believes that everything is going to be alright._

_His red blood is brushed away with snow white cotton. Linen bandages press over the gaping areas of flesh, but her touch seems to bring him more peace, as if he is being comforted and cared for by one of his own._

Mexico could only gape. He remembered a woman like her.

_1836_

_The Alamo was a slaughter of a final stand. 32 men held out against insurmountable odds. For 13 days. His men had finally pushed through, slaying all the men present that had tried to defy Mexico's claim on the land. Each man had seen it is a key stronghold for protecting Texas. _

_Finally, Mexico's' men, led by General Santa Anna, had managed to scale the walls and rush the compound. Not a soul was left alive, which had fought. And, even those that had tried to surrender had been slaughtered out of spite. Yet, they had fought with so much determination, that it was deeply respected. _

_His brown eyes watched his men as they were weak from exhaustion, thirst, and hunger. He did his best to care for them. _

_However, he caught a glimpse of someone by two of the corpses. A woman, with sad blue eyes, filled with tears as she traced the features of the fallen men, as if to memorize them. Her fierce gaze locked with his, and Mexico stilled. _

_A woman? On the battle field? How could that be?_

_He started forward, intending to do what must be done, but it stuck him as strange that his men did not see her. Mexico's path was blocked as his General tried to report to him. However, in the time it took to push the man aside..._

_The woman was gone. _

All of these memories happened in the span of mere seconds as sets of eyes widened, and jaws slackened.

The golden hair, blue eyes that glittered with some sort of strange energy, and a large smile were all attributes they instantly recognized.

It was England who was the first to speak, clearing his throat as his mind burned with curiosity.

"And... whom might you be?"

The woman turned toward him, smiling brightly, a soft laugh escaped her and there was a sense of nervousness about her features.

"I," she said clearly in English, her voice carried perfectly through the crowded room. "Am Amelia F. Jones."

Amelia inclined her head slightly, as her blue eyes seemed to flash behind the glasses she wore. Something about them seemed vaguely familiar to Mexico. As a lock of hair, a cowlick really, bobbed as she turned her gaze around the room.

"But you may, if you wish," She continued without faltering and in steady voice, "call me the United States of America."

"That is reserved for personifications," Canada interjected, trying to be polite. "Miss."

"Oh," America said as she turned toward him, "then there is no problem either way."

As soon as her sentence was finished, the room seemed to explode into Chaos. Shouts of disbelief, and some of excitement sounded around.

Canada looked as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Blue orbs gazed back at an astounded England, with a slightly smirk on her lips.

"And, I believe, if I recall correctly, you are Arthur Kirkland. The United Kingdom."

His heart seemed to slow and stop as The U.S. flashed him the achingly caring expression he had glimpsed so long ago, on a blood soaked beach that haunted his worst nightmares still, on an America nurse who had told him not to give up hope. That the end was almost near.

"I told you," she said just loud enough to be heard over the ruckus, "that I would be seeing you again."

His face flushed and he felt hot all over.

"Wh-where have you been?" He asked in a gruff tone that betrayed the fact he was shaken to his core.

She grinned at him sweetly, and a tad amused.

"Whatever do you mean?" She questioned back at him, "I've always been where I should have been."

_He gazed across the fields of golden wheat, pleased by what the colonists had achieved. A woman stood at the edge of a farm, with eyes so blue that they rivaled the sky itself. England felt himself stare at the woman, thinking perhaps she was sprite or some other fae._

_She smiled at him then, a knowing look. As if she could guess that he was not simply a man from a boat that had hailed off the shores of England. _

His brain clicked into place a more moments just like that.

_On the docks, decades later, another golden haired woman with blue eyes watched as England's ship neared, ready to dock, carrying soldiers for a needless altercation. One that might not have ever happened had the Americans been granted representation for taxation. _

_Needless. All of it. _

_However, he sees her. Dressed in homespun heavy wool, with a pitcher of water in one hand, and bloodied bandages in the other. Her blue eyes hardened and she tipped her head in as if accepting a challenge. _

_England kills several colonists that day and more the next._

_Yet, he never saw the woman. He would have spared her, had he glimpsed her. _

Her blue eyes bored into his. Eyes so blue... they rivaled the sky itself.

"Haven't I?" America asked with far more being said in those two simple words. She glanced around the room.

_Bloody war. So horrid that it truly could be called hell on Earth. Cool hands, pull him out of the mud and muck of foreign soil. England has been battered, bruised, and reduced in several places... to rubble. It is only the staunchness of his people that have put Adolph Hitler off. _

_Arthur had never been more proud of his people than in that moment. Their unwillingness to yield had saved them. The fighting spirit they possessed was impressive and worthy of respect. Even from a foe._

_The hands smooth back his clothes, searching for the source of the warmth that was slowly leaving his body. Blue eyes watched him from behind glasses, as he dimly registered a woman above him. _

_"Hush now," she murmured softly. "You'll be alright. You'll see." _

_"Am I dead?" He asked though his tongue felt as if it would not cooperate._

_"Hardly," the woman said with a soft grin. "You're still in this war."_

_Not the news he was hoping for. Not at the moment, at least. _

_"It's not quite that, love." England murmured in slight delirium. His body felt too heavy. This was more like hell, than a war. _

_She laughed softly._

_"Well, I wouldn't know about 'love'. We hardly know each other." She replied with a strained sort of coyness. England could feel his body being shifted, and something was pressed into his hands. _

_"Arthur," he replied gruffly. "Arthur Kirkland."_

_"I'm properly charmed," the woman said, "let me assure you."_

_Then there was darkness. Quiet and calm darkness. Until he was roused by a rough hand on his shoulder. Someone shouting his name._

_"England!"_

_Canada's violet eyes stare at him with worry. France is beside him, equally as concerned._

_"Thank goodness, you're alright."_

_"D..-"_

_"Don't waste strength by speaking, my friend." France interjected quickly._

_England blinked, feeling hazy and unsure. _

_"Where is she?"_

_"Who?" Canada asked with confusion._

_"The woman."_

_"What woman?"_

_"The one who... my wounds... the bandages."_

_"There was no woman, England." France stated slowly, glancing at Canada._

_England did not think that was correct. That couldn't be. She had been there. Hadn't she?_

Said Island nation roused himself from the painful but filled memory. He had believed she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination during a stressful time. However, no nation had been able to answer how he had gotten the bandages. Or how he'd gotten a hold of American rations.

England couldn't take his eyes off of her.

The other countries quieted as they listened to her reply. Her expression was slightly indulgent.

"Haven't I met all of you before? In one time or another?" America asked clearly.

"But, why were you hiding?" Australia interjected, still taken aback.

"Hiding? Why would I be hiding?"

"Well, I don't know. That's why I asked." The male nation admitted with a slight grin.

"I was never hiding," America said with quiet dignity, "in fact, I was the one that found each one of you. Just because you didn't recognize me, doesn't change the fact that I've always been here. Does it? But, I believe there is a meeting to get started, right?"

Then she smiled at England again, and laughed softly. A look of happiness at seeing them all that made her seem to shine like a beacon in the darkness. She moved around the commotion as countries shouted, argued, and stared in amazement.

America moved next to him, pulling out a chair. She sat quietly, but her gaze remained on him. As if she were appraising him with some vague expression of relief.

"See," she said conspiratorially, "I told you, you'd be alright."

And England...

Fell in love.


	3. Chapter 3

**_This Author does not lay claim to characters or ideas contained herein. This is not for profit or other material benefit. Rated M. _**

**_Requested for an UKUS Omegaverse. Apparently it really is that popular :D_**

**_Not from the UK, so please forgive incorrect terms. Thank you!_**

**_OoOoOo_**

It might never have happened.

In all sincerity, he might never have realized just what the US was, biologically speaking, had he not been running late. That was it. A simple offense of varying from his usual routine on the way to a meeting. An Englishman needed his civilized enjoyments. One of which was his expertly brewed tea. A little thing that America often teased him over.

England had, up until the morning, considered her an annoying Alpha. One of the most, in fact. For she was forever bursting into conversations, trying to arrogantly state as to why she was correct. Granted, a great many other Alphas did that as well. However, on America a country he had known since her beginning, it was exceedingly irritating.

Yet, as he stopped into a quaint shop to order his tea, he just so happened to look out the large window to the street. Where cars drove past, and people hollered already. The United States could be such a loud place.

However, he was here now and the meeting would progress as it should.

He frowned slightly as he caught sight of America, starting down the very way which he had come earlier. England huffed in dismissal that she was even later than he, and she was supposed to be hosting! Germany would simply adore her for this. Again.

That should have been the end of it. Yet, fate took a turn down the same road America was walking. Her blonde hair swayed with each step she took, and Nantucket bobbed along in time. England drew his attention away for a moment to place his order, and to pay the woman with the strange currency which was all one color.

By the time he glanced out the window again, the scene had already been set.

A small gaggle of children, likely on their way to Primary -scarcely able to recite their sums properly by the age of them- wandered near the familiar female nation. American children where always dressed so brightly, it was a wonder that they didn't hurt their eyes. Or the eyes of those that passed by them.

He was content to muse to himself It was then, that England watched in mute shock as the children stopped. The female nation noticed, and grinned happily. The kids appeared unafraid, and all of them smiled back sweetly. Well, some were cheeky from the look of it, but they were children and that was expected.

Children somehow always _knew_ that the personification of their country was someone they could trust. Normally, it was greatly discouraged for little ones such as them to speak with strangers, and it should be. However, they were with their personification and no one could have possibly been safer, or protected them more fiercely from any potential threat. Therefore, England almost did not think too much of the spectacle as the children started to crowd around America.

Except...

Except, children did not flock to Alphas. An Alpha could be gazed upon in reverent awe, such as the children of the UK did for England. Or how they seemed clear a path as they looked on in wonder, as they did for China and Russia. It was not due to her being female either. For Hungary, as England had personally witnessed, received the same respectful distance from young ones.

Biologically speaking, Alphas or leaders even in animals were not pestered by the offspring. It was the caregiver, who received full attention for the more nurturing roles ensured basic survival. His thoughts whirled around him as he watched the children latch onto America en mass.

If he were not witnessing it, he would not believe it. However, plain as day, they were all around America. They could not all be Alphas, Betas, nor Omegas. They had to be a mix of all three classifications. Which made perfect sense for the children.

But to swarm around an Alpha? England's green eyes did not miss how the children began to chatter at America, who looked equally as enthusiastic as the young ones. Though he could not hear it, he was certain they all were talking at once. Somehow, she seemed to be responding to them all. Her blue eyes seemed to dance behind Texas as she smiled even wider.

All too soon, America shook her head regretfully -likely she'd been given an invitation to play- and patted each little head. Beaming as she did so. The children looked sullen, but nodded and went on their way.

England did not hear his name being repeatedly called by the barista behind the counter. Her look of annoyance would not have bothered him either way, because his whole relationship with America was twisting and changing in front of his very eyes.

The most annoying Alpha he knew... was not an Alpha at all.

Nor a Beta, for the young ones had given it all away. America had convinced the world she was an Alpha, even England who had known her since her beginning, was in fact an Omega. An Omega was the only biological equivalent which made sense, because none of the kids even showed a smidgen of hesitancy. No Alpha would have received that treatment. No Beta either. However, a caring and harmless -though that term did not exactly apply to the US-, Omega... would.

Perhaps she could fool the world, but not the children of her own country. Nothing could fool them, at least until they were older.

And, England could not explain why a fierce rush of possessiveness burned at his chest. His green gaze would not be moved from America, who continued on her way, with a smile in place and completely unaffected by the fact that she'd just changed completely in his eyes.

Nothing, was going to be the same.

OoOoOo

HIs first inkling was correct.

It was not the same. England marched into the meeting, already slightly flushed red. His left hand held his delicious tea, and his right hand...

Well, his right hand had a cup of coffee. Just as America liked it. Though why he possessed such asinine knowledge, England did not know. However, he did know how she liked her coffee. It was, perhaps, due to the fact that he had watched her drink the bitter brew for decades upon decades now. Whatever the reason, he had gotten some from her.

Though, he had to say that the woman behind the counter seemed overly put upon for something so simple.

America was playing with her pen, idly clicking it a few times then tapping it on the table. Other countries had yet to arrive. Normally England would have been irate, because he was already twenty minutes late, and being tardy held up the meeting's progress.

Even those known for punctuality were glancing around the room with a bored expression as they waited on the stragglers to filter in.

She seemed to sense the fact that he was awkwardly staring at her. Not that he was being awkward, he was a British gentleman, he was never awkward. Blast it all. His eyes narrowed as he began to glare at America, who cocked her head to the side with a 'what?' expression.

England nearly coughed to cover up how the slight smile she gave him was actually, rather nice. Even when he was glaring at her, she grinned back at him. He nearly kicked his own ass for not seeing it earlier. Of course she wasn't and Alpha. When the others insulted her, she just laughed, instead of trading blows right away.

It made such eerily perfect sense now.

She must have hidden it from him even when he first appeared on her shores. Somehow. There were ways, but he had thought they hadn't appeared until the last century. However, that could not be correct, for he'd never known. Never realized that America was...

"You okay?" She questioned, leaning toward him slightly, a concerned look about her eyes.

He straightened and glanced away, ignoring the way his face flushed at her closeness.

"Perfectly," he responded in a crisp and clear voice. Though a tad deeper than how he usually replied to America.

Some part of him wanted her to see him as the Alpha he was. Even more so than normally.

"It is just that your silly shops here made a mistake," he continued, stroking his own ego for his genius. "And provided me with the swill you call coffee."

America blinked at him, her features morphed into confusion before she rolled her eyes. "Yes, I am terribly apologetic that they gave you free coffee."

His eyes widened subtly as he gazed at her.

"How do you know it was free?"

"Normally when there is a mistake, they give it to you without charge." She replied nearly lazily, "You know, since my people are customer service oriented."

He had paid for it, there had been no mistake, but he latched onto the snippet she gave him and went with it.

"Yes well, either way, I do not drink it. So here." He quickly thrust the cup of coffee at her and America scrambled to reach for it.

Their fingers caressed for a brief moment as he handed the beverage over to her. He felt much warmer than he had a second ago. America stared at it as if it were going to bite her. Oh come now, he wasn't all that bad. He gave her things...

On her birthday.

England moved to the seat next to her, and sat down as if he had every right to be there.

"Uh... thanks?" America said with a slight question to her words. He watched as she shrugged lightly, before sniffing the wisps of steam that still coiled out of the top, despite the plastic lid in the way.

"Oh!" She said with delighted surprise, and England felt a flash of pleasure and pride ripple through his thoughts. "It's the good kind."

Her contented sigh of approval shot straight through him. This time she looked at him for a moment, their eyes met and she smiled behind the rim of the lid as she took a slow sip. She swallowed, and almost looked radiant as she touched a hand to his shoulder.

"Thank you," America repeated as she pulled away.

England's head was swimming from the contact. Alpha's didn't touch each other, not so freely. America had always been... an _affectionate_ nation. It was another nail in the coffin of the idea that she had claimed to be an Alpha.

By his Queen, how could he have missed it for so long?

America turned away, watching as the last countries came in with sheepish murmurings of excuses for their tardiness. Yet, the dangerous flash in her blue gaze quickly reminded him. For all the setbacks, and choices America made that England did not agree with; she was willing to back her words at any given moment.

She was, without a doubt, the most deadly Omega the world had ever seen.

And England, could not take his eyes off of her.

It was the other counties that noticed England by her side, almost like a hungry lion ready to devour America.

OoOoOo

There was a lot of unresolved issues between them. America and England knew it well, but they did not speak about it. It was frankly, impolite and brought everything into a mire of muck. So, they both chose to ignore it. As any mature adult was prone to do.

But there was a chance, that this could be cathartic for them.

And by 'this' England meant his plan to woo America into mating with him. It made absolute sense. The chit was simply _lost_ without him, and he would not be opposed to having her strength backing him. Or at the very least, that is how he presented it to his superiors. All of whom were rather excited at the prospect that America was an Omega.

Political unions were complicated enough already. They did not need another Alpha storming around trying to fight for dominance. It was not pretty, and was the reason that Spain and Austria were no longer married. Granted, Austria was a Beta, but it had driven Spain up the wall.

However, that was not England's concern. He needed to have America agree to becoming his mate. To do that would take all of his skills in seduction. For while America's women _loved_ the classical British accent, the personification... seemed less than impressed.

Which made no bloody sense!

His green eyes flickered across the table to the Omega that had been plaguing his thoughts. Now they were in Southern Italy, going over certain talks that technically did not exist. Canada had been unable to make it, not that it bothered England much.

He was distracted by an American minx. So to speak. He had an inkling that she was being coy on purpose by the way she fluttered her eyes and swayed her hips when she was near him. Of course, others called it blinking and walking.

Semantics, really.

She'd changed her shampoo, he could tell. Every so often he discreetly took a sniff, feeling calmed by her presence and to know where she was. He just wanted her to be safe, and also he was not keen on the idea of some unscrupulous nation trying to swoop down to snatch her away.

America, had unfortunately, been aware of his increased presence in meetings that he normally designated to the appropriate persons. Hss green eyes wandered over once more. Taking in rather endearing sight she presented. Her brow was slightly furrowed as she read the latest briefing, and her hand reached for a glass of water. England would have paid a pretty sum to be her glass, by the way her lips caressed it.

Her blue eyes were on him, he could feel it and did not stop himself from sitting straighter.

She put the glass down, after her drink, and he could sense her watching him from the corner of her eye. England firmly reminds himself so smile at her sexily. America gives a soft snort of amusement.

He sourly frowns at her for a moment. She certainly was not engaging with him as easily as she had in the past.

Southern Italy tried to speak with him more than once. In proper manners, he had politely responded and had even made the other country smile a few times. However, occasionally Israel would lean too close to America, and his hand strayed to her shoulder once.

_'Mine,_' England thought with anger as he kept his gaze on America. She waved the hand away with a disarming smile.

In a display of his cold fury over Southern Italy trying something, even though the Beta was not as much of a risk as another Alpha, it still got under his skin that the little bastard would try it in front of England. He had been an empire, and he sure as hell was not rolling over now.

With a swift kick to Southern Italy's chair, he watched with satisfaction as it tilted over.

"My word, how terribly clumsy of me," England drawled lowly. His green eyes flashed at Southern Italy who looked ready to try and start an altercation. In front of a lady? How distasteful.

Still, if the chap needed to be taught a lesson, well, England was an excellent tutor.

"What happened?" America asked, looking up from her papers and blinking at Southern Italy was sprawled on the ground. "Did your chair break?"

Her blue gaze wandered to England and then back to Southern Italy.

"Ah, Si," Southern Italy said with a thunderous look to his face before smiling at America with a seductive grin. "Would you help me up?"

He held out his hand, and America would have done so. England knew her too well, however, that slimy Italian was not laying a finger on her again. With rough hands he grabbed Southern Italy and righted him.

"There you go, mate," he said with a cheeriness he certainly did not feel.

Southern Italy glared daggers at him, and excused himself for a moment to get America more coffee. Which left England alone with the female nation.

"What was all that about?" She asked casually, with an amused grin.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," England said as he suddenly found a document interesting.

"Uh-huh. Okay, whatever." America replied as she reached for her water.

England met her gaze after a moment, trailing to how she paused and watched him carefully. Her blue eyes raked over him from head to toe. America looked away for a moment. A faint rosy glow on her cheeks. Was... was America blushing? England felt his chest throb at the thought, and another part of him as well. A shy America was... it was...

Something that made him nearly hard right then and there. He shifted to keep such a thing from happening. Or if it did, for it to not be quite so obvious.

Was she trying to tempt him? The stupid chit.

Except, that is what he wanted. However, England cleared his throat, fighting against his urge to snap at the female nation. He needed to be poised and charming.

"Your fly is undone." She stated, a little too loudly.

He flushed, then paled, and looked down. Then he felt his cheeks heat up even more. She was right. His zipper was down.

She'd wasted a perfectly good fantasy, and he looked as if he could not dress himself properly. Goddamn it!

"Terribly sorry," he muttered as he corrected the issue.

America's blue gaze remained lowered on the papers, and Texas was still proudly perched on her nose, but she did not look at him again. Any thoughts he had to turn the events in his favor were summarily forgotten when Southern Italy came back in the room.

Nothing could have killed his mood faster.

OoOoOo

"Ameri-!"

He was calling her name, but it died on his lips. England's eyes widened as he saw her on her hands and knees, her bum was practically wiggling in the air. It was all he could do from slamming the door behind him and taking her right there on the floor as she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Oh hey Iggy!" America greeted brightly. "I dropped my phone." She said with a little soft laugh that went straight to his groin.

"England," he corrected in a growl that was more to do with him holding back his urges, and less to do with America's use of that abhorrent nickname.

"Yeah, I know," she said in a matter of fact tone. "Give me a minute, and I'll be right with you. 'Kay?"

He heard her and managed to nod, but as she turned back toward fishing her phone out from under the cabinet under her desk, England watched her like a hawk. His mind, coupled with his centuries more of experience, thought of several fun things that could be accomplished with America like that.

"England?" America said and in his mind it sounded far dirtier than it was.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to wait, I'll be right there."

England ended up waiting, but he didn't mind. He brushed it off with a show of gentlemanly concern. He was half tempted to join her on the floor.

OoOoOo

He invited her out to dinner. America agreed, as he thought she might, and he wanted to show her a good time. Some food, and good conversation would have them on the fast track to being splendidly smitten with each other. He was certain of it.

He was England, after all.

What he had not expected, was that 'getting a bite to eat' would be taken by America as to mean... 'go get us dinner and trap us at work'. Which is what the star-spangled nation proceeded to do. She burst through the doors, just as he was finishing up an e-mail. Her blue eyes were nearly sparkling.

"I brought Indian!" she half-cheered out loud.

England stared at her. She'd brought him take out? They were supposed to go to an nice meal at a restaurant! Something vaguely resembling a healthy dish. Not ... wait, did she say Indian. He sniffed the air and noticed the lingering spicy scent in the air.

"Turkey Curry?" He asked, surprised, but still slightly vexed.

She started at him blankly.

"No, uh... I think its chicken." America said looking down at the bag.

He hummed in annoyance, but now he did actually want to eat it. HE had a sort of weakness for curry.

"When I said dinner," he said with a note of exasperation, "I meant that I would like to eat at a restaurant."

America wrinkled her nose at him

"But there is still a ton of work to do, and dude stop being so picky. Why can't you just say 'thank you' like a normal nation." She complained as she set the food down and began getting the containers out.

England twitched. He had forgotten that America actually was a very hard worker. In fact, she hardly ever even took holidays.

He pushed back his chair and went over to help her. She wasn't wearing perfume today, however, there was the soft scent of female on her that was nearly irresistible. England swallowed heavily. America turned her attention toward him, looking far too sweet.

His hands ached to touch her, the little Omega that waltzed around his thoughts and through his life. She was constantly in motion, it seemed, and he wanted to hold her to him for a while. To keep her from leaving.

It was barely noticeable at first, but the scent of arousal tickled his nose and he leaned in closer. America gave a soft gasp and backed away a bit. She smiled at him nervously. England's eyes darkened and his pupils dilated.

"America?" He said her name seductively in a voice that could have made sin seem pure.

Her gaze lowered, and a small noise torn between a groan and moan ripped from her mouth. America was watching him with nearly impossibly wide eyes. She flicked her pink tongue over her lips and he watched the display with a mounting desire.

"England." She whispered back.

However, the spell was broken when his face neared her, intent upon capturing the lips that whispered his name so wantonly.

"Oh! I fo-forgot something," America said suddenly, as she all but fled from him.

His green gaze watched it all with a nearly devious smirk to his lips. As an aura of menace as being stopped seemed to pour off of him in waves.

Well, now, wasn't that interesting?

OoOoOo

It was never wise to tempt an Alpha and then try to snatch away the prize. So to speak.

America had been avoiding him, and had actually barred him from entering her country.

She had been slipping through his fingers, not literally, he had much faster reflexes than that. He wasn't entirely sure who was helping her skirt around the meetings, or if it was America being... well... difficult. However, he was extremely irritated with the whole affair.

He'd snapped at every country that came near him, because they all smelt of Alpha and Beta. Not his sweet little Omega. The one that had formerly been a colony under him, and part of his roared to life thinking of possessing her again, in a much more primal sense this time.

Yet... she was nowhere to be found.

More than a few countries had commented on the disappearance of the US. It teased England's ears, every time he heard her name. There was a subtle tortuous in waiting and the build to the what he hoped would be a true mating.

France wisely kept away from him, half afraid that England would devastate his handsome face if he muttered so much as a word in the Island nation's general direction.

England's nearly murderous green eyes landed don Canada. Poor Canada, who was trying not to make eye contact with England. That meant only one thing.

Canada knew something.

Which meant that in a few short minutes, England was going to know what Canada knew.

His wolfish smile sent chills up the spines of a few nations as he neared the Northern Alpha.

"Hello Canada," England said with a smile that showed more teeth than friendliness. "Would you come with me for a moment?"

Canada paled, looking at the frightening image England presented with his stone-green eyes.

"I am a little-"

"Excellent," the island nation breezed onward as if Canada had not spoke at all. HIs hand settled on Canada's shoulder firmly. "Let's chat, shall we?"

OoOoOo

Antarctica.

The chit decided to make him peruse her to Antarctica. Where it was one of the few places where all nations involved actually abided the rules and had peaceful resolutions. In short, owned by many, claimed by others, but no one cared enough to bitch about it. There was a reason that the continent did not have a native people. It was cold as a witch's tit! A whopping negative 38 degrees Celsius. Yes. Fantastic.

Also, England had a vested interest in the place, and it would be like America to hide in an area he would never think to look.

It was a little maddening, but a tad bit exciting as well. Just like when he had to find her the first time. But now the game between them had greatly changed.

He knew just where she would be. At the McMurdo station. So, using good old fashioned U.K. ingenuity, a British trait, he had managed to use his clearance and some fabricated need to speak with the nation to get into the American base.

That and his flawless accent. He was so hot, he'd almost kissed himself. However, he was going to let America do that, as soon as he found her.

The wafting and lingering scent of her was all around. However, it grew stronger in the south side of the station, and he managed to track her down in the Crary Science and Engineering Center. CSEC for short. His green eyes landed on her, dressed up in good thermal clothing and laughing with a Beta American over her damned coffee.

England did not even have to say a word, for as soon as he spotted her, her blue eyes widened and gazed toward him. She could sense him, and he her. They were in tune enough to know what was happening. America blushed and excused herself.

He watched her predatorily as she moved toward him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I think you know." He responded dryly.

She narrowed her gaze behind Texas. "You need to go home."

"Oh I will," he said with faux consideration. "However, you are coming with me."

"No I am not."

"Yes you are."

"I-"

"You are an Omega."

She gasped, her eyes were wide and her jaw slackened.

"You know?" She asked with a hint of desperation lacing her words.

"Indeed."

He could tell she wanted to argue. Knew that she did, for he could feel it deep in his bones. But, she snapped her mouth closed and settled for clenching her fists.

"Are you going to tell?"

"That depends, are you going to come along quietly?"

America gave a soft growl and a deep sigh.

"I will go get my things."

OoOoOo

She wasn't happy, but England was. They were going to someplace with a positive temperature. America made that plainly known by the number of times she purposefully kicked him in the shin, and told him to go 'Fuck himself'. Or how she was going to 'Snap his British superiority off and shove it up his ass.'

Honestly.

He shook his head ruefully at how his legs were on fire, but it mattered very little at the moment. Because though she was upset with him, there was still the subtle scent of arousal on her. America might not have liked what he did, but at the same time, it certainly seemed that she did.

England could not help but indulge himself in her sweet smell. He leaned closer to her, and nearly pressed his nose into her neck.

"What the hell dude?!" America thundered like an angry cat. Hissing and snarling at him. England pulled back to gaze at her.

By God she was lovely when she was feisty like this. How had he never seen it before?

"What?" she asked again, far less upset this time. Her tone suggested confusion.

He grinned at her, a sexy smirk on his face as he watched her flush at his attention. He leaned his head against his hand as he propped it up on his elbow.

"Nothing."

She pouted slightly and looked down.

"Is not."

"What?"

"It is not nothing," she said with a frown. "You're acting strange."

"Strange?"

"Like..." She trailed off, but looked at him suggestively.

"Like?" He repeated, clearly entertained by her shy demeanor. It was doing wonders to his libido.

She blushed harder.

"Like you want me."

England reached out and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. He exerted just enough pressure to get her to look at him.

"That is because I do."

America's eyes went wide and she stared at him as if he were talking to his 'imaginary friends' as she called them.

"...What?"

England's hand moved to her arm and he pulled her to him, the airplane was unaffected by his movements but America was not. She was nestled quiet perfectly on his lap as he wound his fingers in her hair.

"I want you America," he said with every ounce of loving seduction that he possessed.

Without giving her a moment to think it over, the Alpha captured the Omega's lips in a searing kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author owns nothing. Gets nothing for this, except some praise :D _**

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. Based off of the erotic manga 'Hero Sand'. Just so that is clear. _**

**_Guys, I know there are errors. I spell check, and I try to re-read it aloud. I miss some stuff. I am sorry. _**

**_I own nothing. You know that already. Rated M. _**

OoOoOo

America had always had a soft spot for England and France. How could she not? They were integral to her very founding and history. So, in that at the very least, she was indebted to them. And, it would not be remiss to state that she cared for each of them dearly. There were past feelings, emotions too deep and vast to truly name, that simmered to the forefront when she thought about them over long.

But, only on a personal level, and not politically speaking.

Because, there were times she keenly... missed them. They had always breezed in and out of her life on the very winds. The winds that filled sails as they both left her alone. Waiting in her little nightdress. Waiting for them to come back.

As time passed, and she grew, America learned not to expect them to ever stay. Oh yes, they often promised her that they would spend time with her, but something always called them back to their shores. A place she hadn't been able to go.

Once upon a time, she used to dream of what it would have been like for them to stay with her. How the loneliness she felt would melt away for forever. When they looked at her, she was special. America felt wanted and needed. They praised her and looked after her so carefully, as if she were something worth the keeping.

Yet, time stood still for neither man nor nation. Time changed her as it had changed them. They were no longer the men she remembered, but parts of them shined through now and then. The constant bickering lacked true heat anymore. However, that wasn't a bad thing. America liked to see them getting along, as much as England and France truly could.

She didn't expect miracles after all. The lack of bloody brawling was more than enough to make her happy.

However, today, as she watched them chat quietly, she wondered at what exact moment they had drifted apart.

When was it, that they stopped loving her?

She tapped her pen against the pad of paper as her blue eyes clouded behind Texas. Nantucket still stood tall and proud. Yet, the nation herself was lost in thought.

OoOoOo

"I'd say the skin of her neck," England commented from behind America.

She turned, as they walked down the hall to their respective hotel rooms, her blue eyes narrowed and she was half ready for a fight. For no particular reason, except that the meeting had been rather tame by comparison and that usually lead to someone doing something to piss off another country.

In many respects, they were like children and teens. Or crotchety old men. Eh, yeah, that was a lovely mental image when she thought about it.

"What?" France replied with a condescending smirk on his lips. "You are clearly blind. Obviously it would be the tender flesh of her inner thighs."

What the hell? She blinked at both of them.

"What are you two going on about? This already sounds like a PR nightmare, and I am not having that crap today. Women everywhere would take offense."

England smiled charmingly, with a bit of his older persona shining through. A cheeky glint entered his green gaze.

"Women? What women. We are talking about you."

America glared at him.

"I am a woman, you ass."

England shrugged, loosening his tie.

"Well, yes, but only one. I am sure even France-fancy pants can handle a single woman." He approached her as she eyed him warily. "However, you needn't fret, love, I'll make sure he keeps his grubby hands off you."

"How dare you?" France scoffed rhetorically. "If anyone should keep his soiled hands off America's softness, it would be you."

The two male nations leveled looks at each other that spoke volumes. America blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Stop being so freaking weird." She snapped out, trying not to over think the situation. This had come out of nowhere. "I chose who does or doesn't touch me."

It was the wrong sentence to utter. England and France rounded on her then, twin cat-like grins on their faces.

"Oui?" France murmured as he circled around her. "Then perhaps you would let us settle a debate."

"What debate?" America asked reflexively, caught off guard.

England leaned closer to her.

"Which part of you is softer. Now I, with my remarkably better taste,-"

"Ha! Now that is truly amusing," France sniped.

England glared at the other nation, but went back to speaking to America, so close that he was almost whispering in her ear.

"Say that it is the sink on your neck."

America slapped a hand on her neck, as the soft puff of his breath caressed the very area he was speaking of.

"M-my neck?"

The Star-spangled nation flushed a deeper red.

"That is his faulty opinion," France touted with a charming smile. "I, on the other hand, know that it would be the silken patch of softness on your inner thighs."

The thought alone was provocative, and overly intimate. America took a step away from them.

"W-w-what the hell, you guys?" She demanded faintly, her features twisted in shock as she blinked at them in disbelief. Okay, had Denmark given them alcohol during the meeting again? She was going to find him and kick his ass. She should sue him for having to deal with their...

Perverted... perversion... harassment!

Yes, harassment, that one.

England leered at her as she forgot to take a breath.

"Well, it tossed your tummy into the mix, the debate would be over in an instant."

The blush dropped away, and she paled in mortification. He was calling her fat. That English douche-nozzle! Her blue eyes narrowed heatedly as the Island nation had the gall to actually poke her stomach.

France looked vaguely horrified, and America slapped England's hand away so hard, that he nearly face-planted into the floor.

"Don't touch me!" She hollered, and turned on her heel to run down the hall.

"Oi! Where are you going?" England shouted in the very next instant, as America did not bother to turn around. "She's running away!"

"What woman wouldn't, after that?" France demanded in a harsh tone.

America nearly flew down the hall, heading toward her room, the number gleamed at her from a placard on the door. She rushed inside, and turned to slam the door, when it refused to shut fully.

"Bloody hell woman!" England shouted, as she did her best attempt to crush his foot, which was wedged between the door and the doorjamb.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She questioned hotly, her face now flushed from anger, hurt, and embarrassment. He had to be drunk, or she was kicking his ass for this tomorrow. Then again, she might do it anyway.

England a gentleman? Her ass.

"Wrong with me?" He questioned, looking highly offended. Dude. She wasn't even making it up. England looked offended by her question.

"You're the one that is trying to amputated my foot with the blasted _door-_"

"Why are you chasing me?" America demanded, her voice rising in volume.

England stared at her for a moment.

"Because you ran?" He stated, but it ended up as more of a confused question.

France appeared, yanking England backward. The more flamboyant nation waved at America apologetically.

"I am terribly sorry America," he started in a calm tone.

She huffed at them.

"You should be. Acting all wired and shit, and what the hell?" She articulated elegantly.

France gave a small laugh, shrugging.

"Sorry, we just wanted to have a little fun. All those meetings get tedious and so boring. I'm sure you understand."

A little, she supposed.

"We will get going," France said lowly to England who looked vaguely chastised. "Good night! We'll see you again America."

The last words. The ones that she had always hated and dreaded as a colony were said so carelessly. They brought up all the old memories, of having to watch them leave. Empty promises on their lips, and a longing for some more of their attention if they would just look at her like she mattered again.

America's throat went dry, and she opened the door wider.

"Wait!" She said, louder than necessary as their gazes swung to her. "I mean..."

"Yes?" England asked, gentler this time.\

America looked down, and her blue eyes glanced away, as she blushed.

"I ... forgive you, even though you guys are _strange_, and I guess... I don't... have anything else to do. So we could hang out. You know, for a little while."

France beamed at her, and England only scowled faintly.

OoOoOo

America said 'hang out'. Apparently her English must truly have been flawed, because that somehow conveyed to the pair of male nations that she said 'Oh please, grope me to your heart's content!'

Well, she was only surmising that must have been what it translated to, because they were. With France, she wasn't terribly surprised by it, but England. Now, him caressing her neck and slowly wandering to her chest...

That was surprising. It was new, and a bit alarming. But in a way that did not frighten her, she simply wasn't sure what she should feel about this. America blushed and looked away as France's hands wandered up her clothed thigh to rest on her derriere.

"Watch it," America snapped, feeling slightly aroused and mortified at the same time. She was being groped, and actually allowing them to do it. This was a cross between being totally un-cool and incredibly awkward, with a hint of _'I'm strangely okay with this'_ tossed in for spice.

Suddenly, the world moved as France grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down with him onto his lap, as he plopped down on the bed.

"Hey!" The Star-spangled nation squawked in surprise. Her blue eyes widened as England leaned closer toward her.

"Stop acting like such a child, America," he chastised lightly, with a grin on his features. One that did not seem to scream merriment, but 'Come into my parlor said the spider, to the fly'. She swallowed heavily.

France's breath tickled at the back of her ear.

"Oui, how are we to accurately tell which part of you is softer, if you don't relax?"

She turned her head slightly, but could not really see him from her position.

"That makes no damn sense," America replied with a grumble, "you can feel my skin just fine without me _relaxing._ You've '_relaxed' _with half the women in my country."

"Ah, 'tis true, but it only left me with an appetite for the nation of those women." France returned flirtatiously as his lips ghosted over her neck.

England flicked him in the forehead.

"The neck is mine," he warned with narrowed green eyes.

"My apologies," France replied, sounding anything but sincere.

"Quit it," America groused, trying not to shudder at the feel of him behind her, as England pressed closer in the front. Her blue eyes stared into deep green, with only Texas to shield her from his direct gaze.

"Quit what?" England asked, with a faux innocent expression.

America gasped as she felt hands undoing her business pants. France chuckled quietly behind her.

"Being so forward," she sputtered, as France's hands seemed to take on a mind of their own, slipping inside to move over her the outsides of her thighs. She glanced down, and could see his hands -well the outline of them- as he moved them closer toward her inner thighs.

England looked terribly amused.

"You're complaining about that now?" He flashed a wide smile, and he gave her a quick kiss.

America was startled into a momentarily silence. England had never... kissed her before. Her blush deepened, and she could feel how hot her face was.

"And, besides, you agreed to let us decide which part of you is softer."

Not... really. Well, not in so many words. Honestly, she thought he was interpreting here.

"How can we judge if you still have your clothes on?"

Holy cow! America's mind sputtered and she realized that they were sincere. They weren't clowning around, or trying to fluster her. Or at least, that was not the main goal. What was she supposed to do? Supposed to say?

Granted, if she actually felt like stopping, she could make them at anytime. Though she had the gut instinct that France and England would not try to force her. Which made her more comfortable with what was happening. Still very embarrassed, but not afraid.

Nervous, maybe. It was certainly acceptable to be nervous when England was undoing the buttons on her blouse with a deliberate slowness that nearly had her forgetting to breathe. As France's fingers wandered closer to her nether region, guarded by a mere slip of cloth.

"He makes a very good point. I agree." The romantic nation proclaimed with enthusiasm.

However, his tone changed when he nipped at her shoulder.

"It's alright," France purred in her ear. "We won't hurt you. I promise."

"W-wait-" America trembled. Her thoughts were a swirling mass of confusion, desire, concern, worry, disbelief, and many others. Overall, she wanted to participate, but she was also painfully shy about this sort of thing, and England calling her chubby at the start was certainly not helping America's ego any.

"You're blushing," England cooed at her, as he started to trail kisses down her 'soft' neck and to her collarbone, but it was obvious he did not intend to stop there. Her shirt was open entirely, and he could easily see her bra, and America did not doubt his goal was what was concealed behind the needed female support.

"I know!" She cried out, trying not to lose her cool at the moment.

"Someone is enjoying the French way of seduction," France muttered lowly, as he kissed the skin of her shoulder, his right hand ghosted over her most sensitive place, and America jerked upward in his arms, a bit straighter.

England scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous, clearly, it is my technique." His accent was making parts of America throb. She had always loved the sound of England's voice and it was weakening her resolve at the moment.

If she did not spontaneously combust from this, she was going to kill them.

England reached for her back, and she felt France shift to accommodate whatever it was he wanted. America felt him tugging at her bra clasp, before it gave way, and slipped down, revealing her breasts.

Ones that England wasted no time in lavishing with attention. His hands were on her, kneading one nipple, as he took the other in his mouth. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp as he suckled at it, causing a wonderful sensation of pleasure to shoot through her.

France chose that moment to push her undergarment to the side, and ease one finger into her slickness.

"Ah!" She cried out, nearly dislodging England from what he was doing.

The island nation stopped and glared over her shoulder at France.

"What the hell are you doing?" He questioned, slightly louder than needed, as America tumbled into his chest.

"Making her feel superb!" France gloated happily as he searched for a particular spot inside the female nation.

"I... I don't-" America began as she mumbled into England's shirt, only to cut herself off an moan loudly.

"Hold on, France," England replied trying to keep them all from falling to the floor. "She's deceptively heavy."

America squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to be embarrassed.

"Well, support her properly."

"What the hell do you think I am doing you stupid Frog?" The Island nation fired back with anger in his words.

"I don't know, but you obviously aren't doing it correctly," France snaked out loud.

"You damned-"

America gripped his shirt, as she looked up at him. Tears pooled in her eyes. England looked horrified. France stilled instantly as she let out a little sniffling cry, that sounded as if she were sobbing.

"Stop!" The Island nation said urgently.

"Whoa! I am so sorry love," England muttered, pulling her toward him, and away from France. The romantic nation looked scandalized by the sight of her tears.

"I am sorry, as well, I did not hurt you, did I? I am terribly sorry, if I did." France expressed sincerely. He tried patting her on the shoulder to offer comfort.

"I'll kick his ass for you," England promised. "Don't cry."

America shoved him away, and he fell off the bed. She turned away and dashed at her tears.

"Ameri-" France started, wanting to sooth her.

She turned back to them, hurt fury on her face, as well as embarrassment.

"Just shut up!" She snapped out, and they were both silent. "If you want to sleep with me, then stop getting distracted with yelling at each other. Focus on me, damn it! I'll make you both feel as good as you make me. But we are not having this threesome with the pair of you bickering as if I am not even here!"

They stared at her, confusion on their faces and concern, until her words sunk in, and they nearly hopped to attention.

"Yes Ma'am!"

OoOoOo

France was at her front now, and England was behind her. The first British 'invasion', she'd ever welcomed was surging repeatedly into her. America shuddered as their hands tormented her with gentle caresses and small pinches or circles in just the right places. The Star Spangled nation could not help the moans that tumbled from her mouth.

With their full attention on her, America could scarcely think as they swiftly brought her t the point of 'earth shattering'.

France kissed her hungrily, swallowing the desperate plea for more that she would have voiced.

"Relax love," England whispered to her, with his accent deepening. "We've only just begun".

France pulled back and gave her a suggestive wink.

"Oh America, you look so adorable like this," he gushed as he leaned down to latch on to a pert nipple. His tongue laved over the sensitive nub with experience. It caused her to whimper in delight.

"I know," The island nation grunted as he thrust into her again. "I could just eat her up."

For once, France whole heartedly agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**I own nothing. I earn nothing from this. Author does not claim ownership to characters/sayings/ ideas herein. This is to include Hetalia.**

**For the Omegaverse lovers, here you go. More AlphaUKxOmegaUSA **

**Enjoy!**

OoOoOo

England wondered if the swift kick to his jewels, which was a dirty trick by the by, had truly been warranted. It had just been a kiss. A delightfully passionate and nearly animalistic kiss, but only a kiss. The Omega, however, looked fit to be tied.

Which... was not a bad idea...

He mentally growled with approval.

He noticed the way her bosom heaved as she struggled for breath, and how red her lips looked, even compared to the flush on her cheeks. Her bright blue eyes, a gorgeous feature of hers, stared at him with both shock and contemplation.

England watched as she settled herself down enough to speak.

"What game are you playing?" She snarled, narrowing her gaze in warning.

The Island nation pondered her meaning. Well, he did admit that he was coming on a bit strong, but it made perfect sense. America had belonged to him once. A clever little Omega that had hidden from him. In plain sight. The thought exhilarated him and also irritated him on some level. A great misunderstanding, the entirely of her Revolution, would not have happened had he been aware.

Yet, the past was in the past, and there was nothing to be done about it now. Except to keep the pretty Omega in front of him from getting away. America wasn't giving off scents of fear. In fact, there was the lingering aroma of her arousal wafting in the space between them. However, the anger and confusion was equally as thick.

England would tread with caution. America was still an Omega, and an Omega should not be messed with when they were on the edge.

He beckoned her closer. Doing his best not to wince, for she had truly given him a wallop of a kick.

"Now, darling, " He drawled out in a slightly gruff voice. "Why would you think I was playing at anything?"

She reared back a bit, blinking at him as she scrutinized his features for any trace or hint of deception.

"I... I don't know why you would. Or what this is about. All I know is that you suddenly demand I come with you, knowing I am an Omega, and you start saying these... _things."_

"Things?" he asked gently, watching a myriad of emotions play across her face.

"That you," she swallowed quickly and glanced away, "want me."

The words were whisper soft, but her scent of desire spiked to high, it was painful for him to keep his distance. However, nothing good ever came from pushing America too far.

"I do want you," he replied in a blunt form of honesty.

America nearly gaped at him, her shoulders dropped a bit, as if she didn't know how to take what he was saying. How to take and understand it, or accept it at all. Confusion painted her pretty features.

"But you don't even like me all that much. Is this some sort of political move?" She questioned, far too lightly, "Because you discovered I'm an Omega?"

Well, he'd certainly presented it that way. His government would not exactly _object_ to having America backing his word. As a mated pair would. However, if he stated that to her she might recoil from him. His personal reasons for the matter, had nothing to do with her resources or military strength.

England simply... wanted her.

Craved her.

Though it was true that they did not always get along like two peas in a pod, that did not mean that England disliked America. He did need her, on a level or two. She was... important to him. Therefore wanting her to be with him was more than natural. He desired her to the point of pain.

He had to have her. The irritatingly optimistic, stubborn to a fault, Omega that had not left him entirely. America still kept ties with him, even shortly after her Revolution. Well, by national standards. And, that said quite a lot. England, in return, had chosen to aid America over Canada once upon a time.

Canada had _not_ been amused. Still, that had been when England believed her to be an Alpha, yet... it was not so. There was a whole new world of possibilities for them now!

Texas glinted as she tilted her head, to look at him. Really look at him, as if she'd never dared hope for anything to happen between them. He could see and smell the longing about her. The same expression she'd held when he had traveled away from her during her youth.

America, when she had been wholly trusting of him. Before all the bitterness and anger. England felt a thrill of exhilaration run through him. A primal need to prove he was as he used to be. Someone America could count upon.

She was honestly looking at him. In the way that only Omegas could. In a way that appraised and scrutinized every part of him. Searching and deciding if England fit some ingrained criteria well enough to be a mate.

Which he was. After all, he was _England. _

"Well," he said after a moment, puffing out his chest slightly to present a better image to her, "It would never be entirely unrelated."

That was the truth, and she nodded, keenly aware of that glaring fact as well. There was a bit of disappointment in her features. The way her mouth pulled slightly.

"However," England continued, " I will say that it is not my personal reason for choosing to pursue you."

Her eyes widened, and the expression she gave him, was enough to make his heart stop. A look of happiness flooded her features. Such serene and sincere joy at his statement, that was very ill-disguised.

"Oh," America said very quietly.

Part of England wondered if he had imagined it, but he knew she had said it. He could feel himself nearly quivering in excitement as the scents of anger and confusion faded. It left only the lingering heat of arousal.

Arousal he was about to act on, when America chose that moment to walk away from him. England blinked his green gaze, as she wandered into the plane's restroom, and shut the door. He heard the lock 'click' into place.

His mind went blank, and he followed after her.

The Alpha nation stared at the door, as if it were the greatest magic trick he had ever witnessed. Or even the greatest magic, for that matter. Because, there was no way that America just walked away from him after he poured his bloody heart out to her.

But... she had. What the hell was this?

He raised a hand and knocked on the door, rather loudly.

"America?" He questioned with a slight undertone of impatience. She was not allowed to closet herself off in the small space to avoid him when she made his blood set itself aflame.

Really, a little common courtesy. Was that so much to ask for?

"I... I need to think about this." Came her voice with indecision plain in her tone.

"In the facilities?" He questioned in disbelief. Why not in his arms? Where he could lavish her with attention and remove her clothing.

Well, the last part was more for him than her at the moment. Still, he knew she would very much enjoy it. He nearly purred at the thought.

"Well, it is not like I have a lot of options here, England." America returned with a bit more spirit in her words. "I just need a few minutes. Please."

"You can't be-"

"If you say serious, I am coming out of here and there will be bloodshed." She snapped out in irritation, though he caught the whiffs of her uncertainty and attraction to him.

England sighed heavily. He truly did not understand America sometimes. The Alpha sighed heavily, and stayed where he was. He'd wait her out, if he had to.

OoOoOo

America stared at the bathroom mirror. The nearly dim lighting, by comparison to what she was used to, let her see herself for the first time since being alone with England.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could see the flushed look on her cheeks. She looked... pleased. America noticed that she was smiling.

Like an idiot, but smiling.

She gave a soft, almost soundless laugh -more of a huffing of her breath really- and stared at her reflection a moment longer.

With trembling hands, she smoothed down her hair and straightened her clothes as a single thought clambered about in her mind.

England wanted her.

_England _ wanted her.

She couldn't help it. America burst out into a little impromptu dance of happiness. He liked her!

It was then, that she realized he hadn't actually said that. America frowned slightly, and tapped on the bathroom door.

"England?" She questioned, trying to keep her voice even.

"Yes?"

"Do you like me?"

There was silence as she looked at the door, trying to keep her heart in her ribcage. Had her hands always been this clammy? She wiped them on her pants.

"W-what sort of question is that?" He balked and America's eyes narrowed.

"A damn important one." She insisted placing her hands on her hips. Some of her earlier excitement faded. "You said you want me, but... do you like me, or not?"

She could almost hear him flustering from behind the door, as he cleared his throat.

"I... like you." England admitted in a softer tone that was somehow rough around the edges.

America flushed again, and before she could stop herself, she went back to victory dancing. A small sound of delight caught in her throat.

"I like you too," She said after a moment, when she could.

America took one more glance at her appearance in the mirror, and made her choice.

OoOoOo

This nation was going to drive him absolutely _mad. _

Or at least, the side of him that could still think logically and did not want to devolve into animalistic lust. Which was looking more and more appealing with each moment that the delectable Omega insisted on cloistering herself off in the restroom.

The sound of the lock, unlocking, had his attention riveted on the door.

With the most adorable and arousing shyness he'd ever seen on any nation, America stood in the doorway.

Her cheeks were tinted red, almost to her ears and across the bridge of her nose. Which still supported Texas, and she gazed up at him with limpid pools of sky blue. England felt his heart and loins throb painfully.

The only coherent thought flooding his hormone addled brain was 'mine'. He reached for her, and America allowed herself to be caught up in his arms.

"I'll take such good care of you, sweetheart," he promised sensually as he leaned down to kiss her.

Only to have America's hand mysteriously appear over his lips. His green eyes narrowed for a moment, like a lion that was highly un-amused.

"E-England," she said with a slight stutter, as if she was having trouble making her tongue move. "I... I want you to court me."

He stilled.

"Properly," America insisted. "And, I mean it."

That shyness was still evident, but there was a hopefulness in her voice that gave him pause.

"If you want me," the Omega said softly, "and you like me, as you said you do. Then court me, and I..."

America bit her lip and glanced down then back to him.

"Then I will be _all in_."

Mates.

England understood instantly what she was referring to. If he courted her, she would tie them politically as well as personally. America, the previously hidden Omega, would be his.

Challenge: Accepted.

She removed her hand form his mouth, waiting for his answer. He could smell the arousal and nervous excitement on her skin. It was driving him to the brink. Yet, he reigned back his Alpha instincts and gave a pained grimace. Though he hid it well, for he was a true gentleman.

He tipped his forehead to her, butting against it gently. His nearly feral green eyes locked with hers.

"As you wish, my dear." He promised lowly.

It did not escape his notice, that she shivered in his arms at his words.

OoOoOo

England, was an Alpha just a hair's breadth away from snapping and killing someone.

America, the clever little minx, had tricked him. That had to be it. Somehow, she had gotten him to agree to court her. Which meant, that by his word -and his honor- he had dropped her off at home. Thoroughly untouched.

Well... mostly.

Her lips, and parts of her neck, had borne the brunt of his impassioned onslaught. And, now, he was watching her intently over the meeting table. The other countries were highly curious as to why England was staring so intently at a fellow Alpha.

Was he hoping to challenge her? Was there a war brewing?

He did not even bother to wait, for it to fully finish. There would be closing remarks, and general good will to promote unity toward the end. He didn't give a shit about all that. He was too busy catching the gazes of the Omega that kept glancing at him throughout the meeting.

The tease.

England strode over to her seat, and placed a small gift in front of her. America blushed slightly, but looked pleased, all the same. She accepted it with a genuine smile at him.

A Snickers bar.

The gift of food, and the promise of gathering resources for her so that she would never fear hunger. As was tradition.

He was honoring her request, and in a way that America likely appreciated.

Many eyes watched the pair in interest. The Island Alpha and the Star-Spangled Alpha as they locked gazes again. America, however, did look down for a moment.

England did not even bother to pretend not to hear the startled gasps of those around America. It was easy to recognize what he was doing.

"England?" Liechtenstein inquired gently, hoping to head off some of the taunting that might follow. An Alpha courting another Alpha?

"Yes?" He replied, not taking his eyes off the Omega that had captured his attention.

"I think, you might have made a mistake."

"No. No mistake," England replied with a nearly aggressive but sensual tone.

"B...But Ms. America is-"

"My Omega, in courting." The Island nation stated boldly.

America blushed harder, and quickly nodded. Accepting his words, as she accepted his gift.

And, the other nations, nearly hit the ceiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Thank you lovely reviewers! I adore you! Dedicated to the person that wanted this. PirateEnglandxMermaid America_**

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. _**

**_I own nothing. Rated M. Thank you for reviewing. _**

**_Please note, this is only a STORY, and should not be intended to cause offense in anyway. Time is roughly the 1100-1200's._**

OoOoOo

Halloween was a time for fun and frolic.

It was not actually meant to be the time when America got herself hurtled back into time, wearing nothing but a mermaid costume.

She granted, it was a little ironic, but not very funny at all, because the ocean breeze alone was freezing her to the bone. The blonde nation stood, scantily clad, on a pristine beach while her teeth chattered mercilessly.

America briefly pondered if she was going to need a dentist as much as they rattled on her now. She didn't care if the make-up she'd spent _fucking_ hours on was getting ruined. No, not at all. Did no one know how hard it was to do a tutorial off of Pintrest and Youtube!

She'd had to buy insane colors and brushes to pull of the scale pattern she'd painted on her body! America had been forced to wear a fish-net stocking on her head to pull off this pattern!

Oh. Oh, when she got back, she was going to get that Nordic jackass.

"Stupid Norway," she harped with irritation, "can't take a freaking joke!"

Her blue eyes narrowed, and she hated that she hadn't thought to bring Texas along to the party. She'd worn contacts intense with the large star in the middle. It did not affect her vision much, akin to other Halloween themed contacts.

Oh sure, Norway had threatened her dozens of times for calling him 'Old'. However, she'd never believed he would actually _do_ anything.

Well, she believed him now.

The emotionless Jackass. She'd thought that they had a similar repertoire to that of him and Denmark. Apparently she was wrong. Well! Didn't that just beat all, now that he'd left her in something that vaguely resembled the 'Little Mermaid'. Except the skirt was blue, however, the fins were a nice touch. And, truthfully, her top was white. Okay, the 'top' was really little more than a bathing suit top with tiny sea shells sewn on, but still. It looked nice.

She'd even put a sea-star in her hair! Granted, she'd chosen one the closest to red as possible. Hey, she had her national colors, and she was working with it. Damn it.

Denmark had told her she looked good.

America supposed that turning to Norway and asking him what it was like to 'witness' the evolution of fish into people had been in error.

She knew something was wrong. The Star-Spangled nation could sense it the moment the Norway muttered something at her, and touched her shoulder. It felt as if she were being pulled too far away from her people.

Yet, when she had landed here, with sand clinging to every available inch of her along the frigid shore, she'd only felt a small handful of people within her boundaries. Everything was out of place.

Incorrect.

However, the spunky nation did not let it frighten her. Knowing Norway, he'd pull her back soon enough, when Prussia and Denmark annoyed him too much for him to leave America in the past.

She'd get the last laugh. For now, it was a point to Norway. Most definitely.

OoOoOo

America built a small fire, with bits of dried leaves and whittled kindling, as a starter on top of some driftwood that looked dry enough.

Granted, that hadn't lasted long, so the poorly dressed for the weather nation, had huddled in on herself inside the darkness of a cave.

This... _sucked._

Oh, she could have done more. America could have gone all Green Beret on this, but she worried over altering the time line. Since the top minds in her time were still figuring out if time was linear or circular, or something in between.

So, she was stuck, nearly freezing and starving because she was terrified if she so much as squished a butterfly, that she was going to end up a dude and be best friends with someone she hated.

Or you know, she'd end up married to Norway, and she was supposed to punch him as soon as she got back. So, really, it was a conflict of interest. America like to keep things uncomplicated.

She hadn't slept a wink, so when the first outline of something dark upon the water appeared in the distance, she prayed it wasn't a storm. She could not handle that right now.

Granted, she'd live, but she was going to be so freaking pissed off.

It took close to an hour, with her rubbing at her dry contacts more than once,

It was a Spanish ship. Her eyes widened marginally, as she noted the old Flag. Tattered and frayed by the elements, but still blazing proudly against the morning sky.

What she witnessed next, however, as the outline of the dark ship against the oranges and purples of the dawn, was something being dropped into the clouded waters.

'_No,'_ America thought in denial as the barest hints of raucous laughter floated toward the shore. That 'something' had been vaguely human shaped.

It couldn't be. Spain wouldn't...

Then again, America had no idea where or _when_ she was. She had heard tales, as she sat warm by a fire listening to England's smooth and rich voice, of times before her own. The ones of pirates and daring adventures.

Of gold and treasure.

Stories she had eagerly listened to and beg for more of. England usually obliged, until at her tender age as his ward, she had drifted off to the sound of his voice. However, America had never known Spain during his more rebellious days. Nor had she ever known anyone, until she had fully formed.

Bits and parts of her recalled Spain. The parts of her that were directly tied with his colonization.

However, above the disbelief that someone had been dropped into the ocean, was the overwhelming need to get to that person. As if... as if... America's life depended on it too. Something was calling to her desperately. A nearly heartbroken plea for...

What? That she did not know.

Without thought, or hesitation, America rushed into the freezing water. The pull that tugged at her was far too strong. However, she would have gone to offer assistance anyway, but there was hint of panic to the way she stumbled forward into the sea. Her limbs protested the cold, and she yelped as what little warmth she possessed, was sucked away greedily by the waves.

She could see the billowing sails of the Spanish ship, sensing that somewhere, Spain was aboard. It was... strange. She felt more connected to them in the past, than she ever had in her future.

"Fuck," She hissed as she grit her teeth, surging onward, until it was deep enough for her to dive. Her progress was slow in the beginning, but quickly sped up. Soon she was lost in the icy water and darkness, but she pushed forward. It stung at her eyes to open them under the water, but America had little choice.

Her skirt made it harder to get to him, but she knew the general area where they should be. The pull to get to them intensified to the point of pain. America's lungs ached, needing some air, so she broke above the water for a moment. With little grace, she gulped at the air frantically, before diving back under.

Despite the murkiness of the water as it churned, she caught a glimpse of something gold. With a burst of excitement and hope, even as she could only hear her heartbeat under the water, America dove further down.

It was a... ring? Attached to a hand that floated without purpose. She kicked her legs harder, trying to get there quicker. As she drew closer, she noticed the dirty-blonde hair, and the feeling that he was like her.

A nation.

What the hell was going on?

As soon as she touched him, pulling at the heavy clothing, and noticing that he had been weighted down, America knew in an instant who he was.

England.

Green orbs stared at her, and she feared they were unseeing. He wasn't moving.

Blue eyes, covered by star contacts, widened in horror. No. Oh no. Though her strength was not as it had been in her present time, America tugged him upward off the ocean floor. The heavy metal around his ankles did not stop her from kicking with all her might, using one hand to hold him securely to her chest.

_'Hold on England, dude. Hold on_.' She though frantically as she swam them back to the safety of the shore.

OoOoOo

Darkness crowded in on him. A peaceful sense of finality washed over his exhausted form. His lungs no longer pleaded for the precious air above. What an unfortunate set of circumstances. To be caught after a prolonged battle, in a weakened state.

His end was coming for him. He knew that, and felt oddly accepting of the fate. There was nothing that he had left unfinished, except destroying Spain. However, he could face his maker with that knowledge. England had been a fine country.

He had been proud to be its personification. The living essence of it upon the earth. Now, his soul would be called to the underworld, where he would be judged by possibly even the Fae King or Gods themselves. Though, now, there was only One God for him. A great deal had changed in the last few centuries. It seemed like only yesterday he was proudly walking the land but 400 years into his existence.

What he was certain would be his final heartbeats, echoed lazily in his unhearing ears. But, just as the darkness fully descended upon him, his green eyes stared into the vast ocean, to see a creature swimming toward him.

He saw her golden hair, more beautiful than the ring he wore, crusted with a ruby the size of a bird's egg. A sea star was nestled upon her head. How it did not fall off, England did not know, but he could only watch the world fade to black, as bright blue stars stared at him.

OoOoOo

With a loud cough and quite a bit of sputtering, America dragged them upon the damp sand. She felt exhausted. Which should not have been possible, but she did not have the strength of 320 million plus citizens behind her.

"Fuck you're heavy," she gasped, as she pulled at England's shoulders with her dwindling might.

Immediately, she started CPR. Clearing his airway, and listening for a heartbeat, of which she did not hear nor feel. America started chest compressions after two puffs of air into his mouth. She pushed down hard enough to contract the diaphragm and hopefully coax his lungs into breathing and his heart to starting once more.

"Come on. Come on," she muttered as she repeated the process. 30 compressions. 2 Breaths. Keep going.

"Don't you even think about it. If you die on me..." she snarled, but it held no heat. What would she do? She wouldn't exist! She hoped this wasn't the result of her gathering some damned fire wood! But the worry and guilt gnawed at her.

Minutes ticked by, she thought, but America did not give up. Even as she became slightly dizzy with her efforts. Just as resignation was beginning to creep in, England sputtered, expelling saltwater from his mouth and nose as he coughed.

However, America rolled him to his side to help and so that he would not choke. With a cry of excitement she reassured him that he was safe. She brushed his much longer but darker blonde hair out of his face.

"Alright. It's alright. I'm here. Don't worry."

Blue eyes caught sight of the chains around his ankles and she shook with fury along with the cold. With a spark of her former energy, America pulled at them, managing to deform the metal enough to slip it off of England's ankles and feet.

She should have been able to break them entirely, but it was not possible in her current state.

With an irate puff at a sopping lock of hair that flew into her face, America began dragging the still unconscious England back toward the cave. She needed to get him out of these clothes and get a fire for him, but first...

She needed him to wake up.

America settled him as comfortably and delicately as she could. He wasn't bitching at her yet, that made her worried.

"England?" She said, nearly frantically, "Wake up. England!"

She shook him, which she knew was a stupid thing to do, the nation had just been revived after all. However, instinct had taken the place of rational knowledge.

"England," America cajoled sweetly, trying to coax him into waking as she had done when she was a colony. "Please wake up."

She took a breath. Inhaling quickly, waiting until it pained her, and letting it go. Seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. Why wasn't he waking up?

America dashed at the tears that welled in her eyes. She swiped at them, disturbing the contacts, which caused her to let loose a small sob as the salt water stung against her irritated eyes. It was combined with her concern for England, that made it worse. She was physically bothered, but emotionally a wreck at the moment.

Spain had tried to kill England! What the hell?! No wonder England didn't get along with the guy.

Perhaps it was her gentle crying, or that his mind was simply rearing back to the land of consciousness, but the man began to stir.

OoOoOo

There was the sound of sorrow and the taste of the bitter sea salt upon his tongue. His lungs burned as if he had inhaled the fires of hell in one greedy gulp. His eyes flickered back and forth beneath his closed lids, until he opened his eyes to the blurry world before him.

He could hear the muffled notes of a woman weeping. But, that simply could not be. He had been captured by that Spanish devil, and thrown to the watery depths below. A victory and a taunt all the same. It was meant to be an insult upon his very grave, to cast him into what he had once controlled with an iron fist.

Yet, he was not being designed to Heaven nor the pits of Hell. His body throbbed in reminder to attest to his living state. His green gaze focused on the sound near him. Golden hair, and creamy skin. The parts that were not scaled, that was.

Scaled? What manner of creature was this?

The nation blinked, allowing the world to come back into focus once more, and felt his pulse quicken. A mermaid. A creature he had never seen prior to this event, was kneeling beside him. No, that was not quite accurate, she was half-bent over him. Weeping.

England noted in awe and shock, that the Mermaid's scales were melting off her body as she cried. He was watching them liquefy into pools color.

For him?

He watched in shock as she cried tears the color of the sea before a storm.

This... this creature had saved him... there was no other explanation. The strong arms that had pulled him up, had not been a figment of his drowning mind. She had been real. Out here, by the shores of his rebellious brother's home, a _Mermaid_ had found him.

It was strange, because he only knew of the Selkie's that peppered the coast. Many sailors spoke of them, but she was a Danish creature. Danish... he recalled the tale but he could not think clearly. She was supposed to have a tail, was she not?

Though his vision was still blurred, he barely moved his head just to see her tail.

There, in prominent and proud display, he could see the blue fins. Her scales shone like small gems.

England had seen many things in his time, including driving those Danish bastards and the bastards of Germanic or French descent from his homeland. He had met with fairies and sprites, seen demons and cast them out. But he had never seen her like. Those mystical companions, to include the unicorns, had never come to his aid before.

Not like this.

He was the ruler of the Seas, the lord of the watery realm. England was feared far and wide. Yet, he was moved, though he was a vicious devil of the seas, by the look of heartbreak upon her face.

"I pray thee, fair creature, cease thy weeping."

Her plaintive sobs ceased instantly, and a look of statement coupled with joy burst over her lovely features. He could see her clearly now, and was startled by way her eyes were. She looked as if she had fallen from the night sky constellations, and not come from the depths of the ocean.

She was cold, like the animals of the sea. He could not feel the warmth of her, and he shuddered at it.

"England!" The creature said with such unadulterated sweetness, that he felt his aching heart constrict. None had ever called his name with such adoration.

His muddled mind pondered how she knew his name.

OoOoOo

"Mermaid?" England's voice rasped out in disbelief, his green eyes, so familiar but somehow much harder, widened. She gazed down at his attire once more.

She'd tease him about the Pirate thing later, right now she was just happy that he was alive.

What he said actually registered in her thoughts, and she paused. America tilted her head, her tangled golden locks fell in a sopping mass over her shoulder. She could feel the tug of something at the opposite side, and

"Oh," America gasped, realizing how she must look. "One moment."

England grunted, not bothering to move. She didn't blame him. America quickly exited the cave, and took out the contacts that were stinging at her eyes painfully. No wonder they said not to swim with those things on.

She took them out carefully, after taking a moment to wash the sand off her hands. They landed on the ground uselessly, but America scooped them up. She tucked them into her top. It would not do to leave this behind, where it did not belong.

The female nation shivered from the wet and the cold, as the sun climbed higher into the sky. It would help, but not enough, she worried. England and she could both get sick, if she did not take care of this now.

With white and fumbling fingers from the chill, America reached to the clasp of her 'tail'.

She discarded her skirt, putting it up on some branches, to allow it to dry. As she bent down to grab some of the dry looking drift wood. They would need the fire again. The Star-Spangled nation still fretted over what this would do to the timeline, but England was near dead and soaked to the bone.

Drastic times called for equally drastic measures.

OoOoOo

England suppressed a groan as he waited for the creature to return. It was bizarre to watch her walk on her fins that way. It had looked painful. But, it was almost as if he could see the muscles in her tale, for the way they moved seemed similar to human legs.

How peculiar.

She was taking her time though, and he shivered uncontrollably, too tired to try and stop himself. His mind blazed with curiosity, and he pondered what the worth of the creature was. That thought was quickly discarded. He might be ruthless, but he was not without honor. The mermaid had saved him from an untimely death.

He would grant her a boon. Her life.

Still, he tried to recall the story the Danish whore-son had told him. Concerning the creatures. They could... they could become human. His memory supplied the Dane's tale with ease, after a few hard moments of concentration.

When they fell in love, the immortal mermaids could trade their immortality for the life of their chosen lover. Similar to the Selkie, only England would not be forced to take and hide her skin so that she could not return.

But, a burning desire was building in him to keep the female. She was lovely, unique, and rare. All things a pirate wanted. Craved.

His green eyes hardened momentarily as the darker side of his nature reared its head. Something about the creature called to him. She seemed... similar to him. As if they were Kith or Kin. But, she was no Kin of his.

The mermaid almost felt like a... a Kingdom. But, that was impossible. Unless the rumors of the lost cities of the waters were true. However, even so, she was an enigma to him. One he refused to let slip through his fingers.

He had little time to reflect further, as she returned.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her obvious state of indecency. She was... nearly sky-clad beneath his suddenly heated green eyes.

"Don't worry, I will get the fire started, okay?" She beamed at him.

England could not truly understand her words. They were seemingly jumbled, incorrect and said strangely. Yet, she knew his language.

She also seemed to have no problem walking on her legs, and it amazed him. The mermaid... she looked... human. The stars were gone from her eyes, though the star fish remained in her tangled golden locks, water still dripped from them. Her scales were almost completely gone, only a mere trace of color remained of them.

With clarity, Denmark's words echoed through his ears.

Mermaids could trade immortality for humanity to be with their lovers.

This mermaid, was clearly in love with him. It was obvious by how she did not shy away from his roving eyes. She seemed comfortable around him, as she worked to light the fire. Her methods though, where foreign to him, as she used something that looked like a small and poorly constructed bow.

An ember flickered to life, and she smiled at him. Her straight and white teeth were very out of place for a mortal at her age. England felt his blood heat, and though he shivered still, he could not pull his eyes off of her.

She moved closer to the ground as she blew upon the ember, coaxing it into bright flame. She fed bits of wood to the fire, as it crackled merrily. The warmth barely managed to penetrate the icy grip of the ocean he still felt.

"Okay! One task down," the mermaid said brightly, if not loudly.

Perhaps she was so loud, because she was out of the water?

She moved to help him, gentle but strong hands pulled him upward. England was semi-drunk of the feeling of her. She seemed akin to him and it was driving him slightly out of his fogged mind. A precious treasure indeed.

With precise movements, she helped him untie the leather and woven wool that kept his clothing in place. Were he a blushing maiden, such as she, he would have flushed. Instead he allowed her to pull the wet clothing off of him, knowing he might catch ill were he to stay in them.

The mermaid looked away, not daring to glance at his manhood, as she helped him closer to the fire. Still, though it was for his benefit, he could not help that his body responded to the woman before him. Especially when her lovely breasts were only covered in... seashells.

He wondered why she did all this. Then again, how long had she followed him to save him from Spain's intended death?

Emerald met Azure as she finally looked at his eyes. He could see that they were the most beautiful blue he'd ever gazed into. Far more lovely than even jewels and gems. Her hand reached for his, squeezing it gently. A reassuring gesture.

"I'll take care you," she promised with sincerity.

His heart swelled in his chest, nearly painful in the bright burst of happiness that seemed to radiate from her. The mermaid was so deeply concerned for him.

It could mean only one thing.

"This was no passing happenstance, thee beest in love."

OoOoOo

"That is why thee risked thyself ," he said with full authority and confidence in his conclusion. A surprising amount of strength was present as he gripped her wrist.

America gaped at him, clearly aghast and lost at his proclamation. What the fuck was this shit? She did not mean to swear so much, but she forgot that England used to speak like Shakespeare, which was an enormous pain-

"Yea, verily..." she muttered, trying to follow along with what he was saying.

"I shall bethink myself, of this." He said quietly, as a strange gleam entered his green eyes. "Thee art captivating."

"You have my thanks..." America said, looking away and blinking over what the hell she was supposed to do next.

Okay, so she understood 'love', the 'thee' crap, and 'captivating'.

Was... Was England coming onto her?

She barely had time to process that as he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Cold met moderately Luke-warm in one silent taste.

America stilled.

"Come hither fair maiden, and tarry longer still." He whispered in a low voice that caused her to shiver for all new reasons. "Allow me the favor of tasting thy lips, I know not if I canst control..."

He trailed off, as his head dipped toward her once more. His lips sought to conquer now, instead of a gentle press of a chaste kiss. America complied, partially unsure of what to do. Kissing England, was... nice. Really strange... but nice.

A giant red-light was practically flashing across her thoughts. America swallowed heavily, her blue gaze was wide. She was stuck in the past with England. A version of England whom she did not know, and thought she was a mermaid.

A mermaid that was possibly... in love with England.

He pulled back, and America panted quietly for breath. She could feel the blush upon her cheeks as the fire worked to warm them both.

His hooded green eyes stared at her as if she were a mystery.

"Be thee mermaid? Or be thee Siren?" He questioned with a look of lust glowing in the emerald depths.

She be neither. She be screwed. So utterly, utterly, in trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. _**

**_Thank you for your reviews!  
_**

**_Not meant to cause offense in any way, shape, or form. :) By popular demand, the continuation of Pirate!EnglandxMermaid!Fem!America._**

OoOoOo

Alright, it didn't take a genius to see that England was getting a wee bit ahead of himself here. That and part of him was proudly standing at attention. Not that America was really _looking_ or anything...

'Cause, you know, that would be weird and awkward. And... whatnot. Wasn't England like her cousin or something? America shook her head ruefully. The whole nation thing was highly confusing. Not that she'd really had a reason to give it too much thought. And, it totally did not cross her mind that England at this time in history was _really_ alright with cousins marrying.

Wait, why was she thinking marriage? A blush crept up her features. It scaled her cheeks and America knew he could see it easily. His lips descended upon hers again. Slightly warmer than the chilling bite of cold from the sea that he tasted of previously. She should push him away. Heck, she should smack the living daylights out of him! However, he had just recently been brought back to consciousness. His fingers were icy as he traced the warming skin of her shoulder. Yes, the fire helped some, but England was still in potential danger here.

Now, America fretted over what might happen if she shoved him off of her person. He wasn't hurting her. His kisses were searing in their own right. Her mind twisted over what she should do and what was morally expected. Given the circumstances.

She was also going ot make it a point to kick Norway in the balls. At least once. When she got back. Wide blue eyes closed marginally at the sensation of his mouth against hers.

_No America. Bad America! _Her mind yammered and shouted at her while her hands twined into the wet strands of his hair. They were still dripping with the ocean water, but she pulled England closer, clutching to him tightly. Fiercely. Perhaps, too tightly. Even with her rapidly fading strength as a nation, she heard him gasp as she clutched to him.

It was enough to wrench her out of the strange, messed up 'la-la' land she had somehow gotten herself into.

"Woah," she said loudly into England's parted mouth. Her hands moved from his hair to his chest as she pushed him. There was a slight wince from them both as he nearly toppled onto his back again.

Whoops. That had been an accident. Hold the phone, when had he let go of her wrist? He had been holding it. America recalled because of the power England had exuded over her weakened state. Her brow furrowed as she watched him with questioning blue eyes.

"Forgive me, fair maiden," England rasped with a husky tone that sent all the right sort of shivers down America's spine.

_Don't even think about it._

Her thoughts chastised her, but the flush of heat that warmed her loins was a force to be reckoned with. Also, she couldn't help but notice that part of Engalnd was still absolutely standing at attention.

_Weeeeelllll, hello there soldier._

Mentally she slapped herself as she looked away. Twin spots of color on her cheeks, as her blush burned hotter. Okay. Okay, she could handle this. She was just not going to speak to England for about fifty years after this whole debacle. When she got back. Because now the image of his manhood was etched into the back of her eyes. Figuratively speaking.

America cleared her throat, nearly daintily.

"Not a problem," she said with a breathy squeak to her voice that should not have been there. Which she was going to completely deny and forget about all of this. Including the Pirate version of England that thought she was one of his strange 'other worldly' friends that no one else saw.

Yes.

Perfect plan.

His hardened emerald eyes regarded her behind thick lashes. America bit her lip, trying not to think all the modern thoughts that were currently putting Fifty Shades of Grey to shame in her head. Yet, she couldn't exactly pin the blame on crazy England who was already moving closer to her again. America belatedly realized that the only thing shielding her 'virtue' or whatever the hell England called it in this time, was some underwear and sea shells.

Yeah. That wouldn't give any guy the wrong impression.

_At all._

Especially guys that had been trapped on a boat with only men for months at a time and... well, that would explain why he was looking at her with that smoldering gaze.

OoOoOo

England considered himself a very fortunate Kingdom. In this instance, he was heartily glad that he was far superior to the peasantry and could avoid being forced to spend coin on an _Amober._ There was no higher lord, save the King that ruled England that would have a chance to deflower this fair creature before him. Their _Flitterwochen, _as that German whore-son deemed its name_,_ would be the thing of his legends. Tales so vast and complex with their age that even he, who had lived them, could not recall every detail.

Mermaids could be highly fickle creatures. That was the Danish bastard's warning of the tale he told. However, he detected no lyrical music from the spell-binding creature before him. She was, in truth, no siren. Yet, she called to his heated blood more strongly than any ale or wine could manage. She was intoxicating in the soft warmth that now radiated from her mortal skin. Her eyes, far more striking than any gem or jewel in his vast treasury, watched him with surprise before flicking away. He took that moment to strike.

He was the ruler of the seas. He was the demon that men feared when they sailed. Almost as much as the changing winds and storms that rattled men's bones. England could sense it on her, much more potentially now. His hand made contact with her skin, as the power pulsed from her. He could feel it, deep in the marrow, that this maiden with sun-kissed gold hair and the bluest eyes he had ever glimpsed. Was akin to him. No matter her origin, she was his.

England felt his blood thrum with anticipation, not at all deterred by her pushing away from his lustful embrace. Any woman of good standing and virtue would do so. The fact that she was not screaming for assistance nor attempting to fight him more spoke highly of her obvious love for him. A concern that broached so deep and wide in its berth, that England nearly felt a single moment of humility.

It was quickly discarded. He was a force to be reckoned with. By land or by sea. The two realms were his to conquer, and he would do so. There was no doubt in his mind, the mind of the most formidable and terrifying Kingdom to ever grace God's green earth, that he would rule the world one day. All the known world was to be his.

He swallowed heavily, blood simmering with sheer want to possess the fair maiden. It was his nature, vicious and cunning, that permitted him to push her further to the dusty ground. This bewitching creature, was no match for his strength. He glorified at the feel of her warm skin, now changed, as it warmed him. Greedily, his gaze devoured the exquisitely exposed skin. The way her figure molded against him. Firm, warm, and supple all at once. She was perfection. Ripe and ready. His for the plucking.

He lowered himself more toward her. The last of the scales appeared to have melted away. Even their colour could no longer be detected. Leaving the unblemished skin for his tasting pleasure. A moan built in his throat. Part prayer of thanks, and part concern that he would be unable to pull himself back to the Lord's work once he sampled her delicious body. Without hesitation, he licked his lips in anticipation.

He could taste the clinging salt of the sea and the sweetness of her upon his tongue.

Azure eyes, impossibly wide, stared at him without guile.

"England," She whispered. Oh! How she reduced him to a lust-filled fervor. The sound of his name across her lips, was akin to a benediction. Her peculiar speech, which was nothing of German, French, nor Danish... captivated him. She clearly could understand his noble language, but she did not appear to have mastered it. Ah, in that he could provide excellent tutelage.

A burning need was growing within the space of lust and want for the care she was so capable of providing him on the long, lonely nights at sea.

"I beseech thee," he uttered a hoarse command, desire thickened his voice considerably, "Whither I go, thou shalt go? How shalt I address thee?"

OoOoOo

She swallowed heavily. This was all going to be a cluster fuck in a little while. Some part of her could simply feel it. Yet, the hard green eyes were so out of place from the warm, gentlemanly, orbs of the England she'd known. It was electrifying and America had to admit that she'd had a fantasy or two about something like this. Most women had.

Her head moved of its own accord, nodding slightly, at his questioning. What did he want?

Her thoughts churned and she realized that she still thought this Shakespearean stuff was a pain in the ass. However, when the intensity of his gaze continued to bore into her heavily, America could only answer what she understood.

"America," she whispered, still shaken by the closeness of England in this time. In this really, really, naked state. Their uglies were almost a' bumpin'. Her voice sounded off, more breathy than she really thought it should sound. As if it was everyday that England was pinning her down to the floor... in the nude.

Yeah. That happened, like... all the time. Okay, so never would be more accurate. How was she going to fix this?! Panic laden her thoughst as he seemed to glow with pleasure at her reply. The jaded orbs, hooded in a predatory like gleam.

"America." he nearly purred her name off of his tongue and the Star-Spangled nation just about came unglued. It freaking looked like he was savoring her name. She'd known England as the gentleman he always gripped about being, but there was something about this version of him that laid the previous memories of him to shame.

Her blue eyes wandered to wear rivulets of salt water moved down the skin of his arms, dripping to the ground, painting it a slightly darker hue. She was never going to remember Halloween the same after this. And, she was going to skip past kicking Norway in the balls. She was going to rip them off and hand them to Denmark. Maybe, she'd make a purse out of them. Who knew? She had some artistic flare in her, she would think of something.

What was this going to do to her timeline? For fuck's sake! He was practically crawling all over her. Not that a couple parts of her minded all that much. However, that was besides the point! What was she suppose to do?! Her strength was waning and his was growing. America knew she wouldn't be able to win by a display of brute strength in this, and he was watching her with sharp eyes. Taking in every part of her. It was exhilarating as much as it left her feeling utterly exposed.

Burning hot lips, descended upon the tender flesh of her neck. The female nation arched into him at the contact gasping softly. Oh lord! How was she ever going to face England after this? s

"Stop," she said, a tad loudly. Just in case he couldn't hear her, right underneath him.

England did not appear to understand what the word 'stop' meant, because he trailed a path to her shoulder, nipping slightly. America shivered, twisting to move away. How the hell could he forget 'Stop' and-...

Oh.

Oh right.

"Cease!" She pleaded, her hands clenching as his slowly entwined with them. He pulled back, as America breathed a slight sigh of relief.

It was then, that she realized this England was wholly different from the one that appeared in all her memories. A wicked and sinful grin lifted his lips. His hardened eyes looked amused and lustful.

"Nay," he responded lowly.

A tingle shot up her spine. Part of her viciously chose that moment to remind her that Pirates enjoyed plundering. Her cheeks turned a deeper crimson. She was _not_ seriously getting turned on right now. By _England?_

_"Mermaid._ America," he corrected with a flash of teeth. "Thou art mine."

Mmmmkay.

Wait. No. The other one. The refusing one. Yeah. The Start Spangled nation could only gape at him. The sun danced high in the sky, casting their little den with it's merrily crackling fire in a cheery light. While her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

Dimly, the sound of something large sloshing in the waves drew her attention. England settled himself more fully upon her, and she knew he was attempting to shield her from prying eyes.

"Ah," he said evenly. His hard gaze twinkled with pleasure.

America dared to peak under his arm, to see the ship not far from the coast. A dingy of some sort was rowing closer, with someone inside. Yet, that was not what caused her breath to still. It was the sails and the flag that waved in proud display.

An English vessel. The old flag she recalled seeing illustration of once.

This was going to get more complicated. America peeked at him with a silent question. His nod was the only affirmation she needed. England was taking her with him.

Well... shit


End file.
